Almost Human
by 7dreamers-scenarios
Summary: Aria has struggled her entire life with choosing between doing what is right and what is expected. Unable to shift in a community of shifters, she is the laughing stock of her father's kingdom. But when she is given the chance to prove herself, to tear down the walls guarding mankind, and take back the power they stole, she finds the prospect harder than she ever imagined.(LeviXOC)
1. Chapter One: Hard Beginnings

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin.**

 **Warning: I would be remiss not to mention this story diverges quite a bit from canon! Age, AU, a lack of certain characters (namely many of the beloved cadets of the 104** **th** **cadet squad) and unexpected character death are all examples of this. If that is not your cup of tea, it does not offend me, but** _ **you**_ **will probably be offended by my divergence. You've been warned.**

 **Author's Note: Okay guys, I promise this is the last time I tweak or change this story. This story follows some of the basic story line, but there is a lot that I have altered and added. Thank you to those of you who have been patiently following this story through all of its stages. Seriously, you're the best! Thank you to my beta, winged gorganzola, without you this story would never be finished, polished or coherent. I cannot express enough gratitude for all of you!**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter One: Hard Beginnings**

The pool of molten white wax flowed closer to my fingers. They were twined together so tightly I was fairly certain I had fractured a knuckle or two. Biting my lip nervously, I forced them apart until they were lying numbly over the table. Still, he noticed; he _saw_. His glittering black eyes didn't miss much, if anything.

I swallowed a snappish remark. I hated being stared at, but I knew better than to demand anything of him. One does not simply command the king, not even me.

Sucking in a shallow breath, I fixed my eyes to his. I mirrored the impassiveness of his obsidian gaze, carefully shielding the rage and anxiety within. It was harder than usual, but after our previous conversation it couldn't be helped.

How long had we been sitting there?

Blinking, I looked toward the heavy black curtains. Drawn across the endless glass that made up the entirety of the left wall of his chambers, they too gave little away of what was really happening within. I spotted desperate sunlight clawing beneath swaths of onyx velvet and scowled.

Still daylight? Damn. No cover for the impending journey, then. Not the start of it, anyway.

"Do not fail me." His voice was like every bit of that glass breaking, slicing and tearing over those midnight curtains. I would have trembled or jolted or gasped had I not been so accustomed to it. Seeing as I was though, I simply turned my gaze back on him evenly. "Do not fail her— _us_. Your _family_. Remember what they did to you, Aria."

Ignoring the dry lump in my throat, the threatening spill of tears, and the urge to fidget uncomfortably with the hilt of my sword, I kept myself as rigid as the pillars of white marble holding up the roof. I wanted to say that I would never forget, or that I would not fail, or maybe what I had thought all along: that I would make us, both he and I, whole again; that I would piece the brokenness back together.

However, that would require wobbling and cracking and breaking, none of which the king was fond of, so pushing away from the table, I stood stiffly and headed toward glory, hell, and perhaps greatest of all: revenge.

XXX

"Are you sure about this?"

Growling, I snapped, "Dammit, I said I was, didn't I? Just do it already."

I felt the blade slice through my hair and let out a sigh. It fell soundlessly in heavy, dense heaps upon the forest floor. Broiling in the thick, shimmering waves of heat, I didn't have any more clothing I could discard without making my comrades blush—mostly out of embarrassment for me and my total lack of curves. This seemed like the best option, even if I despised cutting my hair and had craftily avoided it for more years than I cared to admit.

As if reading my mind, I watched one of Reiner's blond brows rise. The golden hairs nearly blended in with his summery tan, making it hard to discern if he was being playful or curious. Or, more likely, derogatory. "When _was_ the last time you cut your hair?"

"Or brushed it, for that matter?" Annie snickered, and Reiner joined.

I responded with a swift elbow to her gut. She grunted and gave the remaining tangles of my dark hair a hard tug. Gnashing my teeth together wildly, I felt her dart back reflexively. The long strands of hair waiting to be cut fell back against my waist, curling around my arms and over my shoulders.

I felt ready to lurch for her throat. I'd never liked the lapdogs of my father. Perhaps it was jealousy for the respect he showed them, or just the fact that he could tolerate their presence for more than ten minutes at a time; whatever the case, I knew I harbored ill-feelings for the loyal servants of the king, and that they felt very mutually about me.

Annie and Reiner exchanged a wordless conversation with their gleaming eyes. It dug sharp, angry talons over my skin until, finally, I snapped, "If you don't stop scheming openly in front of me, I'll pluck those pretty little eyes from your skulls and send them back to my father as a message."

Reiner's brows flattened into an irate line. "The king ordered us to—"

"Babysit me," I spat. "I'm aware." Rising from my makeshift seat on an ancient oak stump, I stepped closer to the massive muscle of Reiner Braun. "Don't think I don't know about his intentions to crown one of you as his next heir."

Reiner sputtered stupidly. Annie became more stone than girl. Bertholdt, our designated lookout, and expert eavesdropper, craned his neck around incredulously.

I felt my mouth twist itself into a wicked smile. "You think I care _that_ much? That _I_ would stand in your way of the damned thing?"

Reiner's mouth worked silently before I interrupted, "Because I don't. I don't want the thing, I never have. You can have it. Shove it over your fat heads or up your asses for all I care, but this ridiculous scheming stops. Now."

Reiner had the grace to look down with a violent flush of color creeping over his neck at having been caught red handed, while Annie looked like she wanted nothing more than to rip my throat out. With her teeth.

I kept my eyes level with her glacier blue pair. "We're a team now, whether we like it or not—" Annie glared openly at me, but I continued. "—and that means we have to trust each other not to act like enemies in human territory.

"If we turn on each other now, we'll have no chance of taking back what is ours. All we'll have is four more dead bodies to bury back home—" The image of a mass grave filled with twisted limbs flashed before me, and I nearly choked. But, no, there was still so much to say.

"We are up against enormous odds already, let's not start stacking more obstacles in our way before we even get started. Look, we can go back to hating each other after the fighting's done, okay? But not before," I said, shaking my head. "Not before every last one of them feels our wrath—not until they pay for what they did to us."

Every line of my body blazed with righteous fury. Every breath was a ragged, burning rasp. And, for a moment, I foolishly believed that I'd done it; that I had seemed like more than just some little girl biting off more than she could chew.

I was wrong.

There was another exchange of looks, wary glances that turned impish and mocking. Three pairs of eyes beheld me with what I had seen my entire life: disbelief, amusement, and derision.

Reiner did little to disguise the contempt in his gaze, and even less to keep it from coating his voice. "Our deepest apologies—." His bow was surprisingly graceful, but a complete mockery all the same. "We will be better teammates from now on. You're our _captain_ , after all—"

Bertholdt shot him a vexed expression of warning, his soft voice tremulous beneath my vicious snarl. "Reiner—don't—"

My hands coiled into fists at my sides and I seethed with near palpable rage. "Stop it."

Still, the blond did not heed the warning. He just plodded along with his sardonic smirk. "And where would we be if not for _you_? The greatest non-shifter there ever was! Why you're almost human—"

 **Crrraaacccckkk!**

There was a sudden cry of pain. Before any of them had the chance to react, between one breath and the next, I had knocked over Reiner and landed on his chest with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the packed earth.

"You fuc—" I began to scream, sending a flock of birds into flight, their raven wings beating against the reddened sky.

"GET HER OFF ME!" Reiner choked, interrupting my string of fluent curses.

Arms were around me in an instant, yanking me back hard. I wrenched against the restraints, but I was small and outnumbered. And suddenly, the rational, logical part of my brain was in control once again, eating away those crimson colored emotions until it was the only thing screaming _: idiot! They could kill you easily as a horse swats a fly._ _All they need to do is shift into their titan forms and you'd be a sitting duck!_

I backpedaled furiously, thinking up excuses and lies and apologies, but they were useless. They would not save me from the fearsome red of Reiner's face, or the grim line of Bertholdt's mouth, or the pulsing vein in Annie's temple.

By the time they were finished beating me to a bloody pulp, I was tucked into a crumpled knot upon the grass. They had left me to hunt for dinner, I vaguely recalled. I'm not entirely certain how long I laid there, but the sky had faded to the familiar shade of summer dusk.

Sitting up, I winced at the pain in my ribs. There would be livid bruises, perhaps a few shallow cuts, but nothing major. I'd gotten off easy, I knew that. I'd seen what those three were capable of in their sparring matches back home. Let me just tell you, not pleasant.

Lucky for me, they still believed that my father loved me. That somewhere deep, deep down he cared whether I lived or died.

But I stopped believing in fairytales long ago, and that? Well, that was the biggest fairytale of them all.

XXX

Sneaking into the nearly desolate fishing village was easy enough. The four of us fit right in with the other waifish children, each of us covered in healthy layers of dirt and grime from our trek. Most assumed we were the undesirables flushed out from the nearby wall of Shiganshina. They took pity, and we took their hospitality with hungry fingers and greedy mouths.

"If we want to survive, it's a necessary evil to break bread with these bastards," Reiner whispered into his dingy tin plate. And, so we did. Some with fake smiles, and others—me, mostly—with steely glares and stifled curses.

We lived like beggars for the better part of two weeks before the opportunity I'd anticipated appeared in the form of a mustached merchant and his burly son.

"A ride into Shiganshina, eh?" The old merchant stroked his gray mustache. I couldn't decide if it was abnormally bushy, or if his lips were unnaturally thin; either way, his mustache was all I could make out of his mouth, which moved with each word, giving him an odd, unreadable expression as he said, "What does a young lad like yer'self expect ter find in a place like that?"

Lad? Pushing a fall of my shaggy hair off my forehead, I shrugged noncommittally, letting his assumption slide, as I donned the face of a new character in my arsenal of disguises. It was easier than changing clothes; easier than breathing, even. A strange, unexplainable talent I'd discovered at a young age: the knack to be someone else. Anyone but the perfect princess I'd never had a chance at being.

"Work, mostly," I said flippantly.

Eyeing me dubiously, he handed a crate of smelly trout to his brutish shell of a son, who grunted quietly in response to the weight before depositing it carefully atop the others in the wagon.

I met the mustached man's warm gaze. His eyes were a deep mahogany, rich and strong, with cracks branching out all around them, baked into his skin from years of mustached smiles and unshaded fishing trips. I knew he would let me hitch a ride inside the walls, all I needed to do was fiddle his heart strings, and my newest persona was about the most charming, ambitious, endearing character there ever was.

"Now, lad I'm sorry but—," he said gruffly, one gnarled, arthritic hand busying itself with the forgotten haze of white hair on his mottled skull.

I wasn't going to let this chance slip through my fingers. My persona of the lowly street urchin slid over me like a second skin, until it was a struggle to remember where it ended and I began.

"Please, sir. My sister…she...well, sir she's not doing so well. She needs medicine, sir. Good medicine from the apothecaries inside the walls." I lowered my eyes, angling my chin down toward the packed dirt of the hoof-beaten road leading toward Shiganshina, making my voice wobble at just the right moment. It was a convincing performance of desperation, but I wasn't sure it was enough to sway him. I crossed my fingers clasped loosely behind my back.

The merchant's hand fell to his side. "Ah, lad," he said softly.

The hulking muscle of his son turned his squinted eyes in our direction, pity written across his honest, simple face. I fought the urge to smirk with satisfaction as the merchant sighed softly and ordered his son, Shaddock, to make a spot big enough for me to ride in.

"Shouldn't be hard," the slumped merchant added with furrowed brows, "yer right thin as a switch, lad. When's the last yeh ate a proper meal?"

My stomach grumbled loudly, and I had the good grace to blush. Honestly, there wasn't much to scrape up around this village, and very little game to hunt. I'd been living off scraps of trout and crumbs of bread, but my hatred for the vermin living around me and just beyond the looming walls was enough fuel to keep me afloat.

"Not in a while, sir," I admitted reluctantly, clutching my loose tunic and sad excuse for breasts hiding beneath. I doubted if anyone would ever guess at my actual gender with only _those_ to go off.

The elderly merchant smiled, and the network of lines that crossed his face turned to make themselves part of that grin. "We'll just have ter fix that."

The casual kindness with which he and his son fed me—blackened bread with slabs of butter and a spoonful of real, golden honey, and smoked, seasoned trout—was nearly enough to make my chest ache, but all I needed was to recall the image of my mother's mangled corpse, and it completely chased the feeling away.

I hated these creatures, born from hell's deepest pits, and each of them had a hefty price to pay for what they'd done to my family, to my mother and father and me.

XXX

"So, where are yeh from?" Shaddock asked curiously.

The question hardly registered, never breaking my intense concentration on the sucking of my honey-soaked fingers. "The hunting village astride Bjorn."

"Why are yeh and yer sister in Fiske? That's a long ways erway."

I glanced up just in time to spot the disparaging look his father shot him from his seat. Shaddock tightened his grip on the reins, the muscles of his forearms standing out, tight as twisted rope, as he bowed his head solemnly.

"Yeh shouldn't bother the lad with so many quest—," his father, Rybar, reprimanded.

"We lost our family, our home—everything," I stammered, ducking my head as they sidled their matching mahogany eyes toward my seat between a stack of rickety crates.

A shared sigh of grief, pity and sorrow, and then the elderly merchant fell back into his tuneless, jaunty whistling that he'd been regaling us with for the last hour and a half. Shaddock warbled in his rough voice what sounded like a drinking song passed down through the generations. It unearthed memories of smoky nights spent around a dancing summer fire singing songs with my own family. Back to a time where love wasn't just a four letter word and family wasn't a crypt of limestone and moss and cobwebs.

Shuddering, I pressed the image of tangled bodies and lifeless eyes from my mind, focusing instead on slurping the last of the honey off my fingers and listening intently to the bits of conversation between Shaddock and Rybar. I could use any information on these humans' cities that I could find.

"Way I hear it, they been feedin' those fat bastards real good since these damn excursions started," Shaddock said darkly, his eyes wild around the edges, darting around quickly as if afraid someone other than Rybar, myself, or the whinnying pair of mares might hear.

Rybar cocked his head mockingly, the hint of a smile growing upon his face, as he said, "I thought yeh admired the eagles, son?"

A feverish flush of color suffused Shaddocks cheeks. "I—I never—."

"Oh, please, yeh wouldn't stop fawnin' over that one they call—what was it again?" He looked at his blushing son with expectant eyes, one knobby hand curling around his wild mustache.

"Humanity's strongest soldier." Shaddock's response was both immediate and reflexive, if the way his face winced and grew redder was any indication.

"That's right." Rybar nodded his mottled, brownish head. He appeared to be nothing more than a dirty onion yanked fresh from the ground from this angle. I stifled a smile with the back of my hand at the observation, which quickly fell in shock at his next words. "Levi Ackerman, I think's his name, right?"

"Levi… _Ackerman_?" I asked quietly.

Shaddock nodded his dark head, his mess of dirt-colored curls bouncing with the movement of his tree trunk neck. "Right. He's the best there is at killin' them things. A honest, true scout! The way I heard it, he's an entire brigade by hisself," Shaddock's rough, thunderous voice sped up excitedly, like a child weaving the tales of their favorite hero, "an' he is right damn fast. Faster than any man oughta be—faster than the winds they say. An' strong! He once took out twenty—no fifty—titans all by hisself! An', an' he is—."

"Handsome?" Rybar snickered teasingly, jostling his son's side with his bony elbow. "By golly, son, I'd say yer right sweet on that boy."

Indignantly shaking his head, his hands, his entire body, Shaddock nearly sent the wagon toppling on its side, and the mares snorted angrily, rearing momentarily. Rybar laughed, but helped coax the horses back down from their panic, until they were huffing and whinnying gently, hooves clomping calmly over the dirt road.

I balanced myself against the crates, righting them just as they began to rock side to side, but I was far more concerned with the morsel of information I'd just been fed. There was an Ackerman left in the world, and he was a soldier, a—what had the dim-whit called him? Oh, right—a _scout_. I assumed that that was a branch of mankind's military. Must be new. According to the research I'd done, there were only two branches: the garrison and the military police.

Just to be sure that my hunch was correct, I asked with the definition of nonchalance, "How does one become a scout like Ackerman, anyway?"

They looked at me in a cross between bewilderment and shock that I would ask such a question or, perhaps, that I was there at all. Shaddock was the first to recover, his ruddy face the epitome of silent scorn. "Yeh don't. Nobody could ever be as—."

"What my son means ter say is that joining the scouting legion is damn near suicide," Rybar interrupted dryly.

"They're better than the other branches of the military!" Shaddock exclaimed indignantly, ropey arms flailing.

Rybar shrugged indifferently. "I think they're all useless. What's the point of a military, huh? We've had a hundred years of peace now. Why go lookin' fer trouble?"

Shaddock was struck speechless, making several attempts at a response before settling for brooding silence. I had heard enough though, enough to know exactly which branch I'd be joining once I'd found their military academy—if they had one. Silly excuse for a civilization probably let anyone into their ranks.

Scouting legion, here I come.

XXX

It was around noon when the wagon trundled up to the gates of Shiganshina. The small contingent of garrison sentries set down their playing cards atop the keg of ale they were drunk off with huffs of irritation.

"Whaddya want, old man?" One with coarse hair the color of a harvest moon slurred as he stumbled closer to us.

I took cover behind one crate under orders of Rybar. Apparently village folk were no longer allowed inside the already suffocating city. "There aren't no more resources for any extra bodies, what with the recent baby boom in Maria, and all. That's why they been sendin' the "undesirables" to our villages. Hopin' to lessen the burden, I s'pose," Rybar had said as we came onto a new road, this one wide as a river and paved with cobblestones and leading to the stench of Shiganshina. I knew this, of course, as more than one villager had said things similar to me when I'd inquired about how best to enter the city gates and whether it cost money.

It seemed that there were more bodies leaving the city than entering it. Only the merchants were allowed in, and only for a short time. A mass exodus of emaciated bodies of men, women and children passed us with hollow eyes and starving stomachs. I might have felt pity for their broken dignity and aching feet dragging beneath them on the hard, bloodied stone, but I bore only sickly satisfaction for their pain, hoping that they felt an ounce of what my family had experienced before the end.

Rybar hopped down, surprisingly sprightly and agile for his apparent age. Straightening his crooked spine, he smiled toothily at the tottering guard, who reeked so badly of alcohol I could smell him from where I hid amidst crates of foul smelling trout. I held my nose delicately, too delicately for a young boy. Chiding myself internally, I placed my hand back at my side and held my breath, puffing out my cheeks like a squirrel with dinner in its jaws.

"I got some trout for the market today," Rybar said lightly, patting the hind of the red-brown mare, Thora. She whinnied and snapped her reddish tale over her back. Temperamental, that horse, I'd observed on our journey. "We're laggin' behind as is, so's what'cha say yeh let us through quickly today? We'll even throw in a crate of trout for free for yer lot."

The drunken guardsman pursed his mouth stupidly for a breath or two as he mulled over the offer. One of the other's looked vaguely suspicious and wholly belligerent. He would be a problem, I decided, reaching toward the dagger hidden beneath my trousers.

His broad forehead wrinkled and collapsed over folds of angry, red skin. One long finger jabbed at Rybar's chest, nearly toppling the reedy, ancient man to the cobbles. "You take us for some kinda beggars, old man?"

This sentry was lean, with sunken eyes that smoldered like half hidden coals, with a carefully trimmed beard the color of soot that sharpened the edges of his knife-like face. I palmed the blade in my hand, the hilt comforting and familiar between my steady fingers.

Shaddock stiffened in his seat, his knuckles bone-white as his grip tightened over the reins. But Rybar looked vastly amused and profoundly unconcerned. Perhaps he was crazier than I'd assumed, I mused silently. His warm eyes looked brighter, dangerous, if that were possible, as he said with a studied casualness, "I took you for clever, glorious, respectable lads. You can't imagine my disappointment to find that yer exactly what the village folk say yeh are."

The first guard staggered forward a few steps, shuffling unsteadily side to side, his pale blue eyes hazier than a puff of cloud on a summer morning. "Whatta they say?"

Rybar's small grin widened beneath his mustache until it was all I could see, just teeth and lips stretched from ear to ear. I understood why he wore a heavy mustache now, his mouth was a grotesquely terrifying sight that would send the undead scampering back to their graves. "They says yer all drunken cowards with great big paunches hanging over yer shriveled balls that triple the size of yer brains."

Rybar looked at the garrison sentries mutely for a moment, that wild grin wiped cleanly from his wrinkled face. Then he started to laugh. Great, booming, helpless laughter from the bottom of his soul.

It took a moment for the inebriated mind of the orange haired sentry to work out the insult, but the other steely eyed one was quick to strike Rybar with the blunt of his sword—a strange looking piece of steel holstered by an even stranger contraption strapped about his waist and chest. It was a dizzying tangle of leather straps and silver wires that I took as many notes of as possible before Rybar crumpled to the ground.

The sound of his body hitting the cobblestones seemed to fade before the echoes of his laughter did. At a gesture from the soot-bearded sentry, the cloudy eyed guard picked the old man up by the scruff of his neck. He dangled like a rag doll, his feet trailing on the ground. Rybar's eyes rolled back, and his head lolled forward.

Shaddock's enormous feet quickly thudded over the stone with a resonating boom that I felt in my chest, or I imagined I did, anyway. He thundered toward the harvest haired guard clutching his father like a mere pup.

"Tell your father the next time he mouths off to the garrison he'll be lucky if a black eye and concussion are all he walks away with," the bearded sentry spat, gesturing to his other hooting and chortling comrades aloft the towers gates to lift the portcullis. It rose with the sound of thunder and steel.

To his credit, Shaddock was smarter than he appeared, and kept his wide mouth firmly closed, but his mahogany gaze blazed like a tree set afire as he took his father's limp body in his arms. The sentries looked like dwarves next to his impressive height and girth. They both gulped visibly and cowered back toward the safety of their wall, which we rode through at a steady trot.

Shaddock glared menacingly and I shot them an obscene gesture from behind the tarpaulin shielding me from view. I had no love in my heart for these humans, Shaddock and Rybar included, but I had even less for the bullies of society—human or not.

Old scars crossed and recrossed my skin as a permanent reminder of what bullies were capable of in my own homeland. Most were pale and thin as cracks in winter ice, but some were red and angry, standing out against my flesh like tendrils of flame.

It would appear that that was at least one commonality we shared, humans and shifters: bullies. Especially within our military, those sworn to protect the weak. A dull rage flickered to life at the memory of atrocities I'd witnessed and been on the receiving end of back behind the shining walls of the White City. It was about as much a home to me as this place.

Looking up, I watched with muted curiosity as we came deeper into the city of Shiganshina. Low buildings gave way to taller shops and inns and homes. Trees and foliage were replaced by alleys and cart vendors. The great river of a road grew clogged and choked with hundreds of carts and pedestrians, dozens of vendors and wagons and the occasional mounted man. There was the sound of horses' hooves and people shouting, the smell of beer and sweat and garbage and carelessness. It disgusted me.

"Welcome to Shiganshina," Shaddock said above the din, cradling Rybar's onion-like head in his meaty shoulder.

Eventually the road opened out into a market. Wagons rolled on the cobbles with a sound like distant thunder. Voices bargained and fought. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying shrill and high. We rode aimlessly for a while until we found an empty corner in front of a bookshop, and then we were out of the wagon, stretching away the kinks from the road and unloading the rickety, fish laden crates.

Rybar did not wake before I left, but Shaddock sent me off with three copper pieces and a sack of smoked fish and blackened bread with a generous daub of butter and honey. It was enough to keep me fed for the next three weeks if I rationed it properly.

"He'd have done the same, I'ma sure," he said roughly, shoving one hand the size of my head through his dusty brown hair. Then, with a wistful gleam in his eye, he asked, "Are yeh sure yeh can't stay and work with us? Pa will pay yeh well fer yer work, I'ma sure."

"Thank you, Shaddock, but I need to be moving on." His face fell and my heart ached. I ignored it, and said hurriedly, "I need the money fast, and you have already shown me too much hospitality."

This character sure was a silver tongued bastard. He'd do just fine for my mission. Fine, indeed.

Shaddock smiled goodheartedly, blushing and stammering. "Well, now I wouldn't say—."

Flashing him an easy, charming smile that belonged on a mummer's stage, I insisted, "I would. I would say that you two are the best people I could have hoped to journey here with."

"It was a pleasure getting' to know a fine lad like yerself. I hope yeh find good medicine fer yer sister—?" His warm brown eyes looked puzzled for a moment as he tried to recall my name, a name I'd yet to give or form, for that matter.

Thinking quickly, I recalled the name of one of my favorite storybook characters: a misunderstood thief, pirate and, in the end, hero. "Amos, sir. If it please you."

He reached out one strong, sweaty hand to shake mine and I faltered. Swallowing a mouthful of scorn and bitterness, I placed my hand in his and shook hands with my eternal enemy: man.

XXX

I had severely underestimated the military academy of mankind.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? Too tough for you?" Commander Adalric's spittle splattered over my face. I resisted the urge to snap his neck, and settled for a resolute glare; though it may have come off less than terrifying as I was dangling upside down.

Blood pulsed deafeningly in my ears, and I struggled to lift myself upright in the holsters of my three dimensional maneuvering gear or, as I like to call it, the devil's swing set. The boy on my right had struggled for a few minutes before turning himself upright, while the girl to the left seemed completely comfortable in her rig, as if she were born for it, as if it didn't defy anything that she knew.

Fighting the frustration creeping into my voice, I said evenly, "I think my equipment is broken."

"I think you're head's broken, cadet! I checked it myself. It's fine! Now, get your ass upright, or you're running more laps tonight," my oh-so-friendly commander bellowed louder than a fog horn.

Snickering ensued and I felt my legs scream in protest at the idea of running. Again. That would be three nights in a row and a hundred laps around the barracks. My calves turned to jelly; my feet cramped agonizingly.

Sweating with the effort, I desperately thrashed and scrambled upward, but to no avail. Finally, my body said "You're done," and I felt my arms scrape the mud limply.

Stout, jowly Commander Adarlic made a disapproving sound as he shook his head. "Get him down, Lieutenant Hugo."

Hugo, a vicious looking boy of twenty with cruel looking arms and a crueler looking sneer, slithered forward. "With pleasure, sir."

There was no warning, no preparation, as my body thudded into the mud face first. Pulling myself free from the slop with small sucking sounds, I shot the lieutenant a scowl that could have curdled milk. He giggled with delight.

"Well," the commander said, "get going! You know the drill. You run til' sundown."

Taking in a long, deep breath, I nodded and pelted off unsteadily, my knees already wobbling. The only solace I found that evening was the thought of the endless, horrific ways I could kill them. Slit their throats, eviscerate them...the possibilities were endless and temporarily gratifying.

But as I staggered into the mess hall, a central log cabin filled with long wooden trestle tables and a massive cooking fire carved out of red brick, all of that momentary relief ebbed away, quickly.

"Well, well, if it isn't fish-fingers," a familiar voice said somewhere in the rows of cadets, accompanied by a harmony of titters.

The less-than clever nickname had been awarded to me due to the reek of smoked trout that had lingered around me when I'd first arrived at the academy. It hadn't really phased me before because I'd been called much, _much_ worse in my past; but I was in a particularly foul mood that night, and my veneer of charm and kindness was wearing thin and giving way to the disdain and caustic whit of the girl lurking beneath.

"Better fish-fingers than dog-breath," I sneered.

The smirk faltered on his aristo face. "What did you—?"

"Dog-breath. That's what the girls have been calling you for days now, didn't you know?" I asked innocently. A few nervous laughs trickled across the room. "Oops, sorry. I really thought you knew."

Dedric Konig pushed away from the table, moving with all the grace of a cat. He prowled closer, until he was towering over me, his blue eyes peering down through the sharp slits of his eyes. "Listen, you deranged little midget, I don't know how they did things in that backward little village of yours, but here you speak to high born children with respect."

Part of me grimaced at the familiarity of his words, words that I heard spoken a dozen times by the lords of my own home. Words spoken and knocked back, along with several teeth, into their throat by yours truly. I longed to crack my knuckles over the pretty white teeth in Dedric's mouth, to watch the red lines of blood dribble down his perfect, strong chin like strands of crimson yarn unraveling. But I nursed my temper carefully with a sickly, sweet smile. "Of course, m' Lord. I do beg your pardon for I do not know the propriety with which you should be treated. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to demonstrate?"

The blond aristo looked perplexed, then altogether pleased. Speaking to me slowly, as if he were instructing a simpleton, he showed me how to bow. I cocked my head wondrously, and said, "Ah, I see. Shouldn't you also kiss my hand or my boot?"

He raised his downturned chin, and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Absolutely. You are capable of learning, after all!"

Before he realized what he was doing, he had planted a soft, delicate kiss over the knuckles of my right hand. Everyone burst into fits of laughter, catching onto the clever jest I'd pulled on the top cadet. I couldn't help the smirk that curved my mouth, nor the chuckle that wound its way up my throat.

Jolting upright, Dedric swiveled about on one heel and gaped at the roomful of cadets laughing on his behalf. I wondered distantly if he'd ever been laughed at, he seemed far too proud to have ever been dully made mockery of. He turned back to me, his smile bright, brittle, and by no means friendly, and said icier than a damned glacier, "You're not even worth payback, you filthy swine. You'll be kicked out of the academy by nothing other than your complete lack of talent. It'll be a life of field work and sleeping with sheep for you."

It was like all of the air had been sucked from the room. The giggling and whispering and scraping of forks and knives all evaporated as if by magic, and every set of eyes watched us intently, waiting for a brawl to break out. But they were sorely disappointed. The only thing they got was me turning my back with a small smile and a quiet "Thank you, Konig. That's exactly what I needed."

I walked out with more determination than seeing this world go up in flames, than fantasizing about the commander and lieutenants deaths, than avoiding running the length of the barracks again. He was right, if I didn't start doing what I do best, clawing and fighting when no one else would, then I'd never make it into the scouting legion. I was angry at the insult he had lashed across my back like a whip, but I'd been whipped before, and found that anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to do wondrous things.

XXX

"Come on, Aria," I hissed to myself. "You can do this. Dammit, you can!"

Pulling myself upward, I reached for the piece of the moon lining the sky with dim, silver light. I had been working for three hours straight on just conquering the delicate balancing act of our gear, and still it eluded me.

"Yes! Yes!—ah! No, no, no, no!"

Gravity had its way with me yet again. I smacked my head against the ground pathetically. Swinging in the barest of summer breezes, I stilled for a moment before exploding with pent up irritation, fury and distress. If I couldn't master this gear, then I really would be expelled from this academy—this _human_ academy! I couldn't live with myself for the shame of such an inexcusable failure. And, even if I did find it in myself to forgive, my father never would…

I shuddered at the image of his eyes, like black chips of ice, afire with rage and humiliation as he stood over my body in his gargantuan titan form, reaching down to crush my bones to dust.

No. No, I would master this damnable gear and that would be the end of it. I'd stay out here until the cadets convened for morning drills if I had to.

"Amos?"

Startled, I managed to careen into one of the rigs poles somehow, nearly concussing myself. "Huh? Who's there?" I managed, rubbing the tender welt already forming over my forehead.

A tentative, girlish laugh. "Petra. Petra Ral. I'm the one you were next to today on the rigs."

"Ah," I said, recalling the pixie-faced girl that had been a natural on the devil's swing set. "Come to cheer me on with some fun insults? Did Dedric put you up to this?" I asked sourly.

"Actually, I came to practice myself," she replied.

Spinning around to glance at the strawberry-blonde, I gave her a dubious look. "Yeah, right. You're a damn natural on this thing." My body spun back around, twisting back and forth uselessly, dizzyingly. I fought the urge to groan, or vomit. Or both. "What does someone like you need to practice for?"

"Well," she started, "the same reasons you do, I'd assume."

"Right," I scoffed.

"It's true," she protested, the sound of her buckles clinking together softly as she fastened them. "I didn't get good at this overnight, either. I've been practicing every night." There was a sheepishness in her tone that made me believe her.

"Really?" I fought to pull myself upright and flipped back around clumsily, bashing my arms against the ground to keep my head from receiving any more damage. "I just assumed—."

"That I was naturally gifted?" The gentle, infuriating creak of her rig told me she was swinging back and forth in her harness. "I'm not. I was just like you. I had a lot of trouble getting the hang of it."

I grumbled jealously, "Apparently not, since I'm the only one hanging upside down."

Her giggle was delicate and airy and perfect in its genuine sweetness, like honey poured over warm bread. It sent a surge of unbidden envy down my spine. My laugh was comparable only to a dogs howling or a witch's cackling.

"Would it make you feel better if I were upside down, too?"

"…maybe…"

I heard a whoosh and shriek of surprise, mirth, and laughter. Turning my head, I saw the shadows of her pale face looking toward me. The whites of her teeth sparkled in the bits of moonlight sprinkled over us. "There. Now we're even."

Shaking my head, I frowned deeper. "No. You see, you can get yourself back up, but I can't."

There was a thoughtful silence, then: "Yes, you can."

I snorted. "Oh? Is that so? I've spent hours struggling just for shits and grins, then? How wonderful! The Commander will be so relieved!"

She shot me an indignantly playful glare, and said, "Do you want my help or not?"

The very thought of succumbing to help from anyone, especially a human, seemed worse than death. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Feebly, I attempted to rise on my own one more time, and when I tumbled back to earth, I knew the answer lying on my tongue to be the only feasible option left. "Yes, please."

XXX

The look on Commander Adarlic, Lieutenant Hugo, and the other cadet's faces the moment I finally, _finally_ shifted upright and stayed there, was in one word: priceless.

Beaming, Petra cheered from her own rig. "Go, Amos! I knew you could do it!"

The others gaped open mouthed and stupefied. I felt an inkling of pride for my minuscule accomplishment. It was the first time I'd felt in control since I'd arrived upon the stone steps of the academy.

But I had a long way to climb to get to the top of the class, and this was only the first of many grueling steps.

XXX


	2. Chapter Two: The Academy

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Attack on Titan, or its characters.**

 **Warning: Canon divergence! Language!**

 **Author's Note: Thank you to Amor Mio for adding my story to their story alert subscription! I appreciate it! You're the best. And, again, thank you to my amazing beta.**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Two: The Academy**

"Remember: ready, aim, fire," Commander Adarlic thundered.

Fifty iron wires reflected the dappled sunlight peeking in through the canopy of trees. My own wires were not a part of that spectacle. I was still struggling with working the gear. Balancing on a rig in a harness was one thing, working this hellish contraption was entirely another.

"What the hell are you waiting for, Cadet? Are your damn ears clogged?" The bearlike commander roared from his post on a thick branch above me.

Ignoring him, I focused on clearing my head, on cleansing my foggy mind. Breathe, I commanded myself. I took in a deep, calming breath. The air was warm and heavy with the spicy scent of flowers, and all around me were the sounds of wings on the wind and claws on stone. Another breath.

I was ready.

 _Ready_. I pulled down on the trigger of my right blade, and fired the silver wire into a branch just past the commander's face. He barely flinched, but did glare menacingly at me with the promise of future retribution.

 _Aim_. I propelled myself into the air, unhooking the right grappling hook as I pressed on the other trigger, emitting a burst of gas from my tank that sent me soaring through the air.

I wanted to close my eyes, to smile and feel the wind upon my face, but not yet. I wasn't good enough to enjoy flying, yet. My wings were still young, still learning.

 _Fire_. Unleashing my next wire, I felt it bury itself in the trunk of a knobby oak tree. It didn't take long to catch up to my comrades, many of them still figuring out the mechanics themselves, albeit at a much faster pace. Still, I'd been doing much better with the help of Petra, and my bunkmate, Oulo. They both watched me with a strange mix of pride and anxiety, which I dully ignored.

 _Ready, aim, fire,_ I reminded myself over and over again, recalling the lessons with my mentors and their sage advice.

" _Okay, so there are basically three things needed for our gear to work: great physical strength," Petra's amber eyes roved over me. I raised a brow, waiting for her to move on. She flushed and made, what could conceivably have been, a coughing noise. "Erm. Right, well, particularly leg strength. Spatial recognition abilities. And, probably the most important, the mental strength not to waver in the midst of panic."_

 _I scratched my head and said slowly, "Right, because that explains everything. It's so easy now."_

 _Petra rolled her eyes, but laughed lightly. "Fine, so I'm not the best at simplifying. Oulo, care to try?"_

 _She gestured to the brunet, who blinked his hazel eyes in a way that perfectly conveyed his vast boredom. "It's all about trust, really."_

" _Trust?" I asked skeptically._

" _That's right," he said matter-of-factly. "Trust in yourself and you can fly."_

At some point that early morning in the woods, I began to trust my wings. And flew.

XXX

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Dedrik groaned. "Why do I have to be on fish-finger's team?"

Adarlic shot him a dark look that simultaneously said to shut up and fear for his life. Dedrik wilted into a petulant frown and withheld further complaint.

Commander Adarlic turned his coffee-colored eyes on the rest of us. "Right. Well, you know the drill. Get your asses moving!"

Wires danced about the forest, piercing sodden branches. Summer storms had been blowing through for the past week, leaving the trees half drowned and dripping, not to mention damn near impossible to balance on, for which I had several brutal bruises to prove.

As I whirled past a leafless maple tree, I saw lightning flicker in the clouds and smelled rain in the air. Another storm was coming. I heard a belch of thunder in the distance and then a great curtain of rain was upon us.

Adarlic looked angrier than the unforgiving blackness of the sky, cursing low under his breath below us. Lieutenant Hugo muttered something about calling off our field training, but the commander barked a string of expletives that I was unaware even existed.

"Titan approaching!" I heard a girl scream up ahead.

The titan was a pitiful wooden board, fashioned in the shape of a misshapen beast. There was a wire trigger that a few young captains, with nothing better to do, yanked to raise off the ground. The goal was to take them down, and the only way to do that was simple: cut it at the nape.

This board was no match for the gleaming steel of Oulo, who slashed with savageness at the back of its head, cutting out a piece of the leathery nape which triggered a second wire to tremble and let the second captain know to lower it. My bunkmate grinned smugly and continued his relentless pace deeper into the woods.

"Careful," Petra warned. "The rain is making it nearly impossible to see. If you keep going at that pace you'll—"

Another titan was raised from the low-lying mists. Oulo had no time to steer out of the way, and smacked headfirst into the wooden cutout. Petra, his teammate, was at his side in a heartbeat, as was the Commander and Lieutenant. The rest of us shared nervous laughs until the commander bellowed, "Did I tell you to stop? No! Get those asses moving, and take down some titans!"

Dedrik was the first to move, cutting down the titan Oulo had gracefully face-planted into with a dramatic flair. I rolled my eyes, moving past him on a gust of gas from my tank, heading for a new board rising in the distance. It was felled by a girl with clear blue eyes and wheat-blonde hair, whose name I'd decided wasn't worth remembering the first time I'd heard it. She flashed me a grin as I circled by, saying, "Better luck next time, fish-fingers."

Growling, I tried not to think of how easy it would be to cut her down with one of the blades in my hands, and continued on my trek to find a fake titan to slay. You see, the rules of this exercise were simple: whichever team took down the most titans, won. What we won was unclear as I had never been on the winning team, but I had heard that it ranged from dinner with the ranked officers of the academy, to a trip for drinks at the local tavern, Barnes and Barley, which was usually off limits to the cadets. But bragging rights and clawing my way closer to the top of the class was all I was really interested in.

"Titan at three-o-clock!"

Another board was hoisted into the air, grinning a painted smile. I was the closest cadet by at least twelve meters. Or so I thought.

"I've got this one, fish fingers."

Dedrik spun by with a gust of wind so strong that I nearly careened into a tree. He sliced its nape precisely and it disappeared in the mist with a loud _thump_.

Regaining my balance, I swung toward my teammate's side. "What the hell, Konig? I had that one."

"Did you?" He arched a delicate brow. "It didn't look that way to me."

"You sonofabitch!"

A great spear of lightning crawled across the sky, illuminating everything for the space of a long second. Then it was gone, leaving me flash-blind.

"Amos! Titan! Watch out!"

I swung my blade wildly, trying to find the waiting board, but there was nothing, just empty air. My sight returned, but it was too late. I was falling. The ground rushed up to meet me, and then the world went black.

XXX

I awoke confused, with a pounding in my skull that could have rivaled any number of beating drums. My eyes were gummy and my thoughts so sluggish it took me a long moment to recognize the distinctive antiseptic tang in the air. I was in the infirmary.

Why? Oh, right. I had fallen.

Wait. Infirmary?!

Jerking upward and ignoring the head rush, I clutched at my chest, fearing the worst—they knew I was a girl; they knew I'd lied; they'd have interrogators question me—but was quickly mollified by the feeling of my threadbare shirt beneath my fingers. They'd left me clothed. My identity was safe; my gender remained a mystery.

"You're awake," a bodiless voice said brightly.

Gingerly, I turned my head toward the voice, unsurprised to find Petra perched on a wooden stool beside my bed. Still bleary, it took me a moment to gather a coherent string of words. "How long was I out?"

She pressed a tin cup of water into my hand, her thin fingers brushing mine. I winced at the contact, passing it off as a grimace of pain, but she was too busy blushing twelve distinct shades of red to notice anyway. Taking a drink, I waited for her to recollect herself. She did so considerably faster than she had on prior occasions.

"Only a couple of hours," she said, fidgeting with my pillow and helping me lay back as she took the empty cup from my hands and set it on the bedside table.

"A couple of hours?" I rose incredulously.

The room spun dizzily around me, and Petra forced me to lie back down. It stopped. She eyed me worriedly, a crease of concern whittling the skin between her brows. "You shouldn't move so much. You fell pretty far. You need more rest."

I huffed irritably, but kept my head on the pillow. Any more of that spinning and I'd retch.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, and ignoring the throbbing in my skull, I asked, "What happened, exactly?"

"Well," Petra started, but was cut off by another voice hidden behind the thin, gray curtain of the bed next to mine.

"You cut your own wires, genius."

"Oulo?"

The curtain moved to the side, and revealed his signature neat, brown curls and hazel eyes. But he was sporting a vicious looking black eye and broken nose, if the brace was anything to go off. For all that he was flashing a smug smile as he gave an indolent wave of his hand.

Petra rolled her eyes, muttering, "That's rich coming from the guy who knocked himself out on a titan dummy."

Scowling indignantly, he said, "That wasn't my fault! It could have happened to anybody."

"Right," Petra said mockingly, "But it happened to you. Because you don't listen. Ever."

Oulo began defending himself on pure reflex, but Petra flitted her attention back to me, swiveling her entire body away from Oulo's on her stool. Her fine, waist-length hair swirled around her like a halo as it stood up with static. He glared hotly at her back, but I saw the flicker of a smile on his lips, and just beyond that there was a horrific gentleness that brought him to silent fits of laughter.

That cloying sweetness playing at the corners of Oulo's mouth reminded me of _him_. Blaise. My friend, and rival, and lover. _Ex_ -lover, I chided.

My mouth flooded with the bitter aftertaste of heartbreak and rejection. It was strange to be thinking of him in this moment. To be thinking of that brief passing of time at all. I had already dealt with my glancing blows with love in the only way I knew how: violence. So why was I recalling the way the wind caught in his red hair, bright as blood, or the metallic sheen of his golden eyes?

I drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. I could reflect over that later, but there were more pressing concerns now, like how I'd managed to knock myself unconscious.

"So, I really cut my own wires?"

Petra nodded, then gave me a sideways glance, biting her lip. "Commander Adarlic said he'd never seen anything like it…"

Oulo snorted, leaning back into the brass headboard with a wry grin. "Actually, I recall his exact words being littered with more insults and expletives. I could muddle through them, if you'd li—"

"You know what," I said, rubbing my eyes with one hand wearily, "I'm okay with not knowing the exact eloquence with which our Commander narrated my misfortune."

Marginally crestfallen, Oulo shrugged it aside. "Suit yourself."

Clenching my jaw, I felt a flush of anger start in my face and sweep, hot and prickling, down the entire length of my body. And before I could stop them, the words seeped out like blood between fingers on a wound. "I just don't understand why I can't get any of this? None of you seem to be struggling at all, so why am I?"

Oulo grabbed the tin cup Petra had set aside for him, and took a long swallow, avoiding my question entirely. He'd never been good with confrontation, I recalled Petra's aside after a tiff between us over who got top and bottom bunk.

Petra looked uncomfortable for a moment, but nudged it aside, smiling reassuringly. "Well, first off, you aren't _that_ bad."

Oulo and I shot her disbelieving stares. She waved them aside with a tinkling laugh, protesting, "Don't look at me that way, it's true. You really aren't. Besides," she paused, weighing me with serious eyes, "I don't think any of us have your stamina or grit."

Her amber eyes darted toward Oulo, daring him to disagree, but he just gave her a thoughtful tilt of his chin, and eventually a slow nod. She smiled prettily and that same gentle smile crossed his lips.

I waved her comment aside like a pesky bee. "I'd take raw talent over my so-called grit any day."

"Slow but steady wins the race," Oulo said suddenly, scratching the back of his head. "Or something like that."

Regarding him with the look I'd give a three headed dog, I asked, "What?"

Oulo awarded me a frank look. "You know, the fable about the race between the hare and the tortoise?"

I nodded slowly.

Oulo said slowly, "Well, you're like the tortoise: slow and steady, but you'll win the race because you won't tire out like the hare…?"

"I don't think that that's what Aesop really had in mind when he wrote that fable," Petra said, hiding her obvious amusement behind the back of one hand.

"It's not?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Oulo deflated into such profound disappointment that I couldn't help but laugh. Petra joined, and eventually he cracked a small smile at his own expense. A comfortable silence followed, each of us tangled in our own thoughts.

My black-eyed, broken-nosed bunkmate was the first to recover. Stretching his long legs down the bed, he settled his arms behind his head, casually. "You know, I agree with Petra."

"About?" I asked, more than a little confused.

Petra looked uneasy. "Yes, I'm wondering the same thing, considering you've never agreed with anyone in your entire life."

Oulo wagged one finger at her. "Don't assume, Petra dear. You know what they say about those who do."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly off-put by the pet name and bold implication. "Oh? And what would that be, Bozado?"

Clumsily changing topic, he said, "What I meant was that I agree with what you said about Amos." He moved his legs off the bed to face me. His dark trousers were torn at the knees, where I saw small scrapes and smears of dirt peeking through on his pale skin. "You may not have a natural aptitude for the gear, but you're a quick study, and have the determined nature of a damned ox dragging an upturned cart."

"It's stubborn as an ox," I corrected him dismissively. "And I'm not." I looked at Petra, feeling uncertain. "Am I?"

Petra's smile blossomed, collapsing into a gentle laugh. "I'm sorry, Amos. But I have to agree with Oulo on this one, you are probably the most stubborn and determined person I know."

"I don't understand," I argued. "What makes you think I'm so stubborn? I'll admit I'm determined, but stubborn? I don't think I—" They grinned at me like fisherman with a trout on his hook. I sighed, smiling sheepishly. "I see your point."

"It's all right, Amos," Oulo said airily, his voice taking on the haughtiness of a certain insufferable lording. "We can't all be as perfect as me, lord of the monkeys."

"Ick," Petra shuddered. "Please, no more. I get enough of him when we're training."

"What? You mean to tell me you don't swoon over his chiseled jaw and powder blue eyes?" Oulo looked doubtful.

Petra made a face like she'd swallowed a mouthful of lemon, and said, "No. He's not really my type."

Interested and foolishly hopeful, Oulo edged closer to the strawberry-blonde. "Well, if _Lord Brickjaw_ doesn't interest you, then who does?"

I don't know if Petra responded after that, because it was at that precise moment that my hazy brain awoke, clear and vicious and cruel. _What are you doing fraternizing with your enemies like this? What would your father think? What would_ Blaise _think?_

I didn't want to care, didn't mean to, but I think I always had. I think I'd always needed their approval. And I knew with certainty that they'd never accept my pleasantries with humans. My mother was probably rolling over in her grave, cursing my name through the dirt.

" _Do not fail me."_ My father's voice rang hollowly through my throbbing skull, until Petra's chirping voice and Oulo's smooth tenor were obliterated by the sound. I felt my hatred sharpen in my gut, felt the cracks in my composure, in my devotion, seal up with the clarity of my purpose: revenge. It would take discipline, brutality and determination to get it, but those were the things I'd honed through the years—the talents handed down to me by whatever gods stood above us.

"Amos?" Petra's hand was on my shoulder, a frown creasing her pixie-like face. "Are you feeling okay?"

I recoiled from her hand as if it were afire. "Don't touch me."

She looked as if I'd struck her hard across the face. "Wha—?"

I shifted from the bed, grimacing through the movement it took to stand, and walked out of the infirmary wordlessly.

XXX

I'd been practicing the art of not slicing the wires of my own gear for nearly three weeks. It was pure drudgery, but I'd finally started to improve. Initially, I'd trained each night on my own, maneuvering the dark forest with only the light of the moon to help guide me. Eventually though, Petra and Oulo began showing up, watching with sullen eyes and grim frowns, waiting for an apology that never came. But the damnedest thing was that even without my apology they still found a way to forgive me, breaking into friendly smiles and helpful gestures. So, it was with their kindness, once again, that I began understanding the subtle skill needed to wield blades while flying.

Still, no amount of practicing could have prepared me for what was about to happen.

"Cadets," our bearlike Commander roared for attention. We gave it to him infallibly. "I will not be instructing today's field training." A smattering of giddy applause was followed by nervous coughs as Commander Adarlic shot us a dangerous look with his beady black eyes. "Our academy is honored to have two of the most prestigious three dimensional maneuvering gear specialists known to man." There was a half-breath of curious silence, then, "We salute you, Captain's Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman."

A wave of excited murmurs passed through the crowd. A whisper of bodies slowly became no longer still, shifting like grass under the wind. Until, finally, they appeared: one tall and proud, the other short and hooded.

"Let us offer up our hearts," Lieutenant Hugo's voice cracked like a prepubescent boy.

Stifling laughs, we fell into our rehearsed salute: right fist hovering over our beating hearts. Shouting in unison, "Sir!"

The taller man stepped forward, his emerald cape whipping on a gust of wind sliding through the branches above. His blond hair was the color of spun gold, swept across his forehead neatly. And he was blessed with sapphire eyes that glowed in the sunlight streaming through the canopy. Which is why I suppose many girls toted gaping mouths and breathless sighs. Or perhaps it was the sharp cut of his jaw, like an anvil. Or maybe it was his broad shoulders that rivaled those of our Commander.

Regardless of which feature they chose to swoon over, all of them were fools. He was a good looking man, sure, but it had nothing at all to do with his noble graces. It was in the body language that screamed authority. In the sureness of his gait, and the power of each movement.

It was for these same reasons that I assumed he was the legendary warrior, Levi Ackerman.

"At ease," he said in a voice that resonated like the echo of a stone tossed in a cave. "I am Captain Erwin Smith of the Scouting Legion. This," he gestured to the hooded figure beside him, "is Captain Levi Ackerman, also of the Scouting Legion." I heard several shocked whispers. Apparently I wasn't the only one surprised by the revelation that the great Levi Ackerman was the cloaked pipsqueak dancing with irritation in the corner.

Erwin's booming voice snapped us back into silence. "We are both here with the hopes that we might shed some light on how to properly use your three dimensional gear in a more realistic way."

Commander Adarlic stiffened almost imperceptibly, but my eyes never missed many details, and they didn't miss the slight tension between his shoulders at the implication that our previous training had been anything less than "realistic." If the golden-haired captain noticed, he didn't attempt to amend himself. He simply moved closer to his hooded colleague, as if he were in control of everything around him, and murmured something incomprehensible to him.

The shadow called Levi Ackerman was standing perfectly still, perfectly silent, as he listened to whatever Erwin was saying. The otherworldly, predatory stillness with which he stood unnerved me. I'd never seen anyone so quiet, so shadow-like.

It made me shudder unpleasantly, the short hairs on my nape standing on end, like the hackles of a dog. Part of me was ready to tear into him with my blades, while the other half was ready to tuck tail and run the other way. I reached deep inside my stone heart and found the resolve to stand my ground.

The hood grunted noncommittally. His boots clomped over fallen leaves and thick, tangles of roots as he stepped closer. He moved as if he were somehow innately rooted to the earth, with a fluid grace and untamed savagery. I found myself mesmerized by each step, each purposeful swing of his arms. I felt the crowd around me hold its breath, all wondering the same thing: what's under the hood? A malformed man? A web of scars? A woman?

And then, sighing deeply, he pushed back his hood.

He was clean-shaven and dark haired, with a haunted stare the color of an overcast sky. Shorter than Captain Erwin by a full foot, he looked more like a child playing dress-up than a legendary warrior of the Ackerman line. There wasn't anything particularly striking about him, aside from the way he looked at us. It was palpable. I could actually feel it, like a weight over my chest.

"You've all got your gear," he said without preamble. It wasn't a question, though it felt like one. "Show me how you use it."

Commander Adarlic seemed just as baffled as the rest of us, but he blinked it away and said, "You heard your Captain, get your asses moving!"

We jumped to action, silver wires crisscrossing as we fired in all directions, running through our newly rehearsed dances. Fifty birds all flying in the same formation, the same flock. But I couldn't stop watching the tiny, emerald figure below me. All I could think about was wrapping my hands around his throat and—

"Watch it, dumbass!"

I narrowly avoided a collision with Dedrik, spinning out of the way just in time. If it had been anyone else, I may have even apologized. I just muttered a few expletives I'd learned from Commander Adarlic, which made Lord Brickjaw flush a violent shade of red.

But I had bigger things to worry about, like more near blunders with my classmates. When I had twisted out of Dedrik's way, I'd successfully broken formation. _Great_. I'd be lucky if I didn't end up back in the infirmary at this rate.

"What the hell, Amos?!" Eldrid cried, lemon-yellow hair whirling around his face.

"Sorry," I said, swinging out of his way and slicing my cheek on the sharp fingers of a branch. Ducking and dodging, I did my best to evade the irritated cadets and unforgiving trees, with marginal success.

"AH! AMOS!" A mousy brunette girl screamed.

Growling, I brushed shoulders with her, hard. "Get the hell outta the way, Ada."

Commander Adarlic and Lieutenant Hugo shared an exasperated look, but just as I saw my bear-like instructor stroke his beard and part his lips, I fell back into formation. Adarlic seemed mollified and stayed silent.

Levi raised one hand. We all stirred nervously as we made our way back to the earth, then all of that movement ended, like leaves touched by the wind. He was stonily silent for what felt like an eternity, but was in all probability only a few seconds. I fought the urge to fidget. Then, his eyes fell over me.

He stared at me for a long minute before I found the courage to look him in the eye. For a heartbeat it was simply unsettling. Then it almost felt like the trees were pressing in around us. Or that I was suddenly being thrust deep underwater and the pressure was keeping me from drawing a full breath. I had never felt any stare so powerful, so keen and sharp and heavy.

"You." I knew he meant me, but he elaborated for the others. "The one with the bad haircut. Come here."

I disregarded the insult, and began weaving through the lines of Cadets in front of me. Mindful of fallen branches and grasping roots, I ignored Dedrik and his tribe of monkey followers as they snickered. One of them went so far as to stick out the toe of his boot at the very last moment, successfully tripping me just as I'd made it to the clearing where Levi stood.

I stumbled clumsily into him and rested one hand briefly on his shoulder as I steadied myself. "Sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed.

Stepping away an appropriate distance, I watched him give me a vague nod that could have meant anything. He asked quietly, but not gently, "What is your name?"

"Amos Fisher, sir."

"Seriously?" He looked me up and down disapprovingly. "You're sure that's the name you want to stick with?"

My fists furled at my sides, and I said testily. "I happen to like my name."

"Of course you do." He shook his head, but turned to address the other students, almost as if he'd forgotten they were even still standing there hanging on his every word. "Right. Okay, here's the deal, kiddos. Amos, here is—"

"An abomination to mankind?" Dedrik asked helpfully.

His perfectly white grin widened at the sneers and chuckles of the other cadets. I saw Petra and Oulo frown, but that was nothing compared to Levi's biting response, "Ah, you must be the top of the class, then?"

Dedrik puffed out his chest like a proud toad. "I am, sir. The name is—"

"I didn't ask for your name," Levi cut him off with vitriolic dislike. "The only abomination to mankind, kid, is the way you just twirled around the air like a goddamn butterfly. If you think for one second that the titans are going to be dazzled by such a display, you're wrong. They'll eat you all just the same as they would if you stood still. None of you even deserve gear, let alone swords."

He yanked the gleaming steel from Dedrik's slack hands. Dedrik just stared open mouthed and wide eyed along with the rest of the cadets and the instructors.

But Levi wasn't finished, not nearly. "I want you to try and attack me now. No blades, no gear. Seeing as you don't even know how to use it, it shouldn't make much of a difference. Hell, it may make it easier."

Dedrik's eyes slid toward Commander Adarlic who looked just as stunned as everyone else. Levi snapped his fingers. "Don't look at him. Look at me. I'm your enemy, and if you don't keep your attention solely on me…," he trailed off meaningfully.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Levi vanished. My eyes couldn't keep track of him, it was like watching a bolt of lightning arc across the sky. The crowd gasped at the display of superhuman speed.

He appeared behind Dedrik, tripping his feet from under him and pressing a heel into his throat. "You'll die."

I blinked, dumbfounded as the rest of the cadets. My mind reeled, and I realized that taking out someone of Levi's caliber would take more than a little discipline or training. It would take a miracle. But dammit if I wouldn't find a way. I didn't have a choice, after all. Not after what the Ackermans did.

Levi demanded each of the other scouts to try and attack him, and each and every one failed. Miserably. He made me stand watch, however, which I did with a lean hunger. I took note of all of his movement, searching for patterns (none) and weaknesses (none). The entire process left me slightly amused, mostly by the fierce roundhouse kicks received by all of my comrades, and utterly frustrated. The man was a perfect, lethal weapon.

No, that wasn't possible. He had to have some hidden weakness. I just needed more time to study him.

"Now that I have built up your morale," he said dryly, "I want you to try to use your gear again, and this time I want you to make your own choices. None of that choreographed bullshit."

"Sir!"

Iron wires released once again, and this time the sky was a chaos of blurred bodies. It was every bird for itself, swinging and whirling and dodging. It was glorious.

Unsure of what I should be doing, I cleared my throat pointedly. "Excuse me? Sir?"

Levi lowered his gaze from the darting figures careening around the trees. I took that as the signal to finish my question. "What would you like me to do?"

He shrugged, his expression impassive and unchanging. "Wait quietly until I give you an order."

I huffed irritably, but he was already gone.

As sudden as a summer storm, he was upon the cadets, swirling around trees and bodies as if he'd been doing it all his life. More impressive, was the constant speed at which he moved. He was a smear of green and black and white, like a tornado barreling through the forest. I stopped trying to track his movements, and just watched in a mixture of awe and disbelief as knives began spearing through the air and whizzing past the cadets.

But that wasn't all. He wasn't just throwing knives, he was pinning the students to the trees. It took the span of five minutes to trap them all to trunks of oaks and maples. And afterward, when he landed beside me, he stood without a bead of sweat on his forehead and breathing normally.

"That was fast," he said casually. He gave me a sidelong glance. "Your turn." He held up both hands, letting his blades clatter to the ground, and counted down from ten.

Dazed and dizzy from his previous display, it took me a moment to piece together what he was implying with this countdown. I had ten seconds to fly as fast as my featherless wings could take me.

Without another moment's hesitation, I launched myself into the air, taking sharp turns and dips to try and throw him off. But he was in his element up here, and I wondered if perhaps he actually had wings crawling from his back, hidden beneath that emerald cloak of his.

I sped up, faster. Quick as children racing down a hill. Faster. Quick as a deer with a wild dog behind it. Faster. Quick as the hammering of my heartbeat.

I eluded him by taking unlikely paths through bramble bushes and skimming the silver thread of a spring stream, anything to keep from being pinned by those gleaming knives. But I couldn't trick him forever, so I began using what I had at my disposal: my grit.

I'd be damned if I didn't go down without a fight. So, turning myself around, I came full speed right for him, like canon fire. I saw a flicker of surprise in his gaze, but it disappeared just as quickly. He dropped the knife in his right hand for a better grip on his sword, dangling by one finger, and rushed toward me.

The forest sang with steel as we crashed. Where I parried, he blocked. Where he sliced, I dodged, spinning away. It was a brutal, unforgiving dance. And for the first time since I'd arrived I felt really, truly alive. With every punch of steel, I felt myself become the girl beneath the guise of Amos, beneath the weight of a crown, a tomb, and revenge. I felt like Aria.

So, it was with a smile that I was pinned to a tree. And as Levi told the cadets watching with disbelief that I was the only one who would survive more than a breath outside the walls, I nearly laughed. He had no idea how right he was. By the time I was finished exacting my vengeance, I'd be the only one left breathing.

XXX

"You're late," was becoming the mantra of my life as sleeping became a sort of "elective". In order to defeat Levi Ackerman, I had no time to sleep or be lax. I had to be better, faster, and stronger. So, I was notoriously _un_ -punctual for any and everything: lectures, field training, meals. It bemused few, irritated others, and infuriated the rest.

Today was no exception.

Sprinting over the manicured lawn of the central building, or CORE as the cadets had nicknamed it, I circled around a lichen-covered wall with a mouthful of breakfast and one boot. Where the other boot disappeared to, I could only guess. These unfortunate circumstances had been happening frequently since my little tiff with Lord Dog-Breath. First my jacket, then my gear—which had earned me three spectacular days of scrubbing the toilets—and now my boots. Well, one of them, anyway.

My once white sock was now grass stained a shade of puke green that I could never possibly wash out. And, unfortunately for me, I had only one pair of socks at the moment. Well, so long as I didn't shred this one I should be fi—

My sock snagged over a random sliver of stone pushing through the lawn. It sliced through the thin cloth like a quill through paper, and pierced my calloused skin too. I was so angry about the sock that I didn't even cry out for the lancing pain in my foot.

"Goddammit," I shouted, picking up the bloody stone and chucking it at the acres of gardens and trees surrounding CORE. It disappeared behind a row of apple blossoms.

Bending over, I scowled furiously down at the remnants of my sock. Then, gingerly, I took my ankle in my hands and examined the bottom of my heel. Blood welled from a shallow cut, bright as a berry, but it was nothing to fret over. However, it would slow me down considerably, making me even tardier than I'd been to begin with.

Without another moments waste, I began my limping trek toward CORE'S massive entrance: two stone doors standing wide open. I suppose they hoped that a cool breeze might sneak through the infernal oven they called a school. Sweat beaded up in my hair and over my back as the summer sun scorched me unforgivingly. But even as I stepped through the doors, I felt little relief from the oppressive heat.

"Hot day, huh?" A familiar voice called out behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Dedrik sauntering up the stairs. It was an effort to keep the string of foul names behind my teeth. I settled for a sharp nod and continued my stride toward General Huberta's class.

But Dedrik was persistent. His boots rang over the stone floor as he closed in on me briskly. "What's the matter, fish-fingers? No more witty insults left in your arsenal?"

I exhaled through my nose, trying to get my temper under control. "Delightful as I find your company, I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass on it today. You see, I spent half the morning searching for my boots, and succeeded only in retrieving one that somehow launched itself on the roof of the girl's barracks."

"How unfortunate," he said with glaring insincerity. "I wonder what possessed them to run away like that." He tapped his chin mockingly, a wicked gleam in his diamond-like eyes. Then, "Perhaps it was the overwhelming stench of your peasant feet?"

He broke into peals of delighted laughter, nearly doubling over at his own joke. I ground my teeth together until I heard my jaw crack, but continued stumbling toward the lecture hall at the far end of the building.

Dedrik's laughter soured into a hiss. "Don't walk away from me. Were you raised in a damn barn?"

Step, limp. Step, limp. Step, limp.

"Wait, let me guess," he said somewhere behind me. "You _were_ raised in a barn, weren't you? Like some fat, ugly swine. My horses probably live better than you, and smell better too, I assure you."

Step, limp.

I could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, "No. No, that's not right. It was a dingy, old brothel, wasn't it? Your mother was a damned whore, who had no sooner birthed you before spreading her legs for the next three-toothed patron. You poor thing, no wonder you're so uncouth, being brought up that way it's a wonder you're alive at all. My father and I would have tied you to a post and put you out of your misery like a rabid dog if you'd wandered into our manor."

A welter of emotion rolled through me and brought me to a dead stop. Dedrik continued to taunt me, but I do not remember anything else he said. Like a bear prodded by a torch, my temper wore thin and flared angrily. I became very conscious of the knife I had strapped to my thigh underneath my pants. I felt my hand slowly sliding into my pocket.

It wasn't there. I must have left it in my pillowcase this morning. No matter, I had other weapons at my disposal…

"You really are a spineless, pathetic, worthless sod, aren't you? I mean, if someone said half the things I just—"

And just like that, I earned my favorite nickname: _Fang_.

XXX

Twelve stitches, three split knuckles, and numerous, livid bruises later, Dedrik and I sat in Huberta Muller's office. The chancellor of our academy, General Huberta was a grizzled old prune whose father had built the academy with his own two hands. Needless to say, she took the conduct of her cadets very seriously, and when they acted like "blood-thirsty hellions," she punished them. Thoroughly and remarkably painful, if any of the stories swapped between the boy's bunks bore an ounce of truth.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Cadet Amos Fisher?" She looked over the silver rim of her spectacles, her green eyes so dull and joyless they could have passed for gray.

"Like I have already said, it wasn't my fault," I said defensively. "Konig provoked me wi—"

"Lies. All lies, General. My mother raised me to be gentle to the poor and less fortunate. Why, just before my arrival at your rightfully esteemed academy, we dropped off twenty gold pieces and several carts of food at the local orphanage," Dedrik said in a voice fair and terrible as burning silver, like moonlight on river stones, like a feather against your lips. Or hands around your throat, in my case.

He was more dashing and charming than my character by a long shot. I glowered and sunk deeper into my seat.

"Enough. Spare me the pageantry," Huberta said curtly. "I want the facts. Go."

Sitting behind a huge semicircular desk, the cantankerous general seemed more at home than when she shouted at us from her podium, or from the lawns during field training. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The room was so full of books there wasn't more than a palm's breadth of wall visible in the entire room. She was a woman who believed in logic and the written word, and cared very little for flattery, veneer and aristo men.

It appeared I was in luck. There was no need for me to out-charm Dedrik, I simply had to out act him, and acting was my forte.

Sucking in a breath, I rolled my shoulders once as I tried on a new guise. This one stoic, honest and rational. I'd deal with the frothing rage roiling my blood in the privacy of my bunk. But, for now, I could play the part of "emotionless drone," and maybe wriggle my way out of this mess unscathed.

"Facts? I can give them to you in one breath," I said, my voice was like a sheet of smooth grey slate, without the barest hint of inflection or emotion. "Dedrik has been stealing my things. I confronted him. He attempted to insult me, then attacked me. I defended myself."

So, maybe I'd twisted the truth a little? Huberta seemed to buy it. Turning her hollow, gray face toward Dedrik, her mouth turned with the barest of a frown.

Dedrik blinked in disbelief, his voice shrill as he rose from his chair, pointing one finger at me. "He's lying! He mauled me with his teeth!" Tugging his collar away from his bandaged and stitched neck, he made a flourish with his other hand. "Look! I'm lucky he didn't kill me! The bastard nearly ripped my throat out!"

True. I repressed a satisfied smirk and ran my tongue across my canines absentmindedly.

Huberta raised her papery hand from the desk, her palm facing out, toward Dedrik. The careful gesture cut him off more quickly than a slap across the face. Her face was expressionless as a blank page.

Placidly, she declared, "Dedrik Konig, you will return all of Amos' things." Then, as an afterthought, "Intact. If you are found thieving again, or should those items not be returned promptly and pristinely, then I shall have you barred from this academy."

His face treaded between a nauseous frown and a stricken grimace. Huberta moved her pale green eyes over me, but stayed eerily silent.

"And, fish boy? What about _his_ punishment?" Dedrik was the distinct color of spilled blood, a damn near living flame. "He had better suffer some heavy retribution for this, or—or—"

"Or what, Cadet Konig?" The general's puckered mouth twisted into something akin to a wry grin. "You're in no position to be doling out threats."

"Actually," he said with a lethal smirk, "I am."

Huberta and I shared a curious glance, waiting for him to elaborate. Crossing his arms across his clean white linen shirt, his rings he'd tried to land on me with his feeble blows glittered on three of his fingers. Realization dawned over me and I gave him a knowing look.

His impossibly white grin widened. "If you don't punish Amos, then my father will hear of it, and all of this," he twisted the solid gold band over one knuckle, looking pig-like in his smugness, "vanishes from your academy."

Huberta's gray-green eyes hardened, unwavering as she glared icily at the smirking brat. But we both knew that compared to her father's legacy, otherwise known as the Muller's Academy, justice was nothing. Honesty, even less. And me? I didn't even enter the equation.

I was flunked from the academy faster than I could blink.

XXX

"They can't do this!" Petra cried for the umpteenth time since I'd told her my big news.

It spread like wildfire through the academy, as good news often does. Some cadets feigned disbelief or sorrow and pity, but others wore their grim gratification proudly, openly and unapologetically. I noticed some had taken the liberty to send me off with "going away" gifts. Mostly callous notes painted on my sheets, desk, and trunk; or, the occasional thrown tomato and shouted obscenity. They weren't particularly clever, my class of cadets, and I feared even more for humanity's safety.

They didn't stand a chance, not against us. It made it slightly less degrading when I packed what little I had in my trunk and desk, but not much.

"They can," I said to Petra over one shoulder as I shifted the leather strap of my satchel. "And they did."

The sound of the door banging open sounded far off as Petra tugged me into an awkward, clumsy hug. Shocked, I stood rigidly with my arms glued to my sides. I couldn't recall the last time I had been hugged, but I knew it was a long time ago because I couldn't remember what they were even for.

Why was she touching me? Something in my brain fired off the signal "comfort" in bright red letters. I vaguely recalled my mother's arms encircling me, folding me safely into them as she sang me our lullaby. It left me gasping and trembling.

But then she was pulling away. Finally, it was over. I took in a deep breath to calm the panic racing through me.

Petra bit her lip nervously. "Listen, Amos…I…," she stammered, her voice wobbling. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know. You are so spec—"

Someone cleared their throat loudly. Petra's eyes widened as she hopped around like a frightened rabbit. Befuddled, I shook my head once before turning toward the door.

Oulo stood there looking nonplussed. "So, it's true?"

Nodding, I jerked my chin toward my bed. "Looks like you get top and bottom bunk now. The others will be jealous."

"As if they don't have another million and one things to be jealous of me for," he said sarcastically.

Petra humored a laugh, while I broke into a small smile. "Of course." Then, before there was a chance for anymore awkward hugging or bizarrely emotional goodbyes, I said with finality, "I should go. Thank you for your help, Petra. Oulo, enjoy the bunks. Good luck with your studies."

Petra watched with impossibly wide, watery eyes. "Where will you go?"

Pausing with one hand wrapped around the brass knob of the door, I said, "I haven't a clue."

Oulo patted my shoulder as I passed and I cringed. I hated when plans fell through, and goodbyes; but more than that, I hated these humans and the way they were breaking through my barriers.

XXX


	3. Chapter Three: Alone

**Disclaimer: I don't own Attack on Titan or its characters.**

 **Warning: Canon divergence! Mature language and content.**

 **Author's Note: Here's the next chapter for you guys, I'm trying to update every couple of days. Thank you to those of you who are reading, and thank you to my beta! Please favorite, follow, and review if you have the time and desire. It makes my day like you cannot imagine!**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter** **Three: Alone**

I had been having silent conversations with myself the entire journey to Fiske, the small fishing village I'd left my comrades in, but had yet to come up with a way to deliver my news. Any way I spun it, it ended in an altercation—one that I wouldn't win. And I was in no mood to fight. My stomach was groaning, my feet were blistered and bloodied from the trek, and my head pounded with the beginnings of dehydration.

So it was with a mixture of vast relief and anxiety that I spotted the tavern, The Three Arrows, where we had arranged to meet on the tenth moon after my departure. It stood in a pool of torch-light. A few women hovered near the doorway. They murmured in low voices and gave knowing looks to the men who walked past.

"Here goes," I grumbled, shoving my fists into my cloak's pockets.

"Hey there," a woman with a low-bodice and lower breasts said. "How's about yeh and me take a stroll?"

I kept my hood low, pushing open the brass and oak door. "No, thank you. I'm here for business tonight."

She frowned, the wrinkles on her leathery face creasing further. "That shouldn't stop yeh from having a little fun."

While I agreed, I closed the door without another word.

Noise poured over me like a gentle wave. Men laughed and shouted. Women flirted. Coins rang on the bar. Leather creaked. The cooking fire hissed and spat as a cauldron of stew simmered, and a fiddler sawed out a brutal jig that a cluster of customers danced to. Someone even knocked over a chair. It was so warm and jovial that I almost missed the danger lurking just beneath it. Almost.

But his impossibly red hair was hard to miss, even in a room of bustling bodies and countless colors.

A full-lipped smile played about his mouth. A spark was kindling behind his eyes. His evergreen cloak stood out sharply from the red of his hair, it made my tattered, faded black one look even rattier. He looked me up and down—a slow, deliberate examination. I stepped toward his table stiffly, avoiding his liquid gold eyes, suddenly self-conscious.

"Fancy meeting you here, _Ary_ ," he said archly.

I ignored the pet name and all of the memories that accompanied it. It was like swallowing a mouthful of glass. "What are you doing here?"

He offered me a seat in the chair beside his, when I didn't show any signs of taking it he shrugged casually, and said, "Suit yourself." Then, with that same infuriating playfulness from before, he said "You always were stubborn. I remember when you used to—"

"What are you doing here, Blaise?" I repeated.

My patience was nonexistent after my journey, and anxiety and confusion tightened the line of my shoulders like a bowstring. Why was he there? I knew that seeing my father's right hand was no sign of luck, nor coincidence, and could only mean something truly grim had happened. Or was about to.

I felt myself break out in a cold sweat at the cool amusement in his voice as he asked cryptically, "Why do you think?" Then, making a placating gesture. "Oh, don't look so nervous, Ary. I'm just here to glean information for King Abaddon."

The solid bar of tension between my shoulder blades eased slightly. "Oh…I see. Sorry," I said absently.

"So," he said with a slow patience, like a schoolmaster reciting a forgotten lesson, "what do you have for me, then?"

"Well," I started. "A few things, actually."

Though he tried to hide it, I could see a fierce, lean hunger in his golden eyes. "Go on."

"I found one," I said, borrowing the cryptic tone he'd used on me earlier.

"One what?" One eyebrow raised. Not arch, or playful even, just gently curious.

"An Ackerman."

His eyes sparkled dangerously. His grin shifting from impish and then well past the border into wicked. "It would seem your dreams to exact your revenge may come to fruition, after all, Ary."

I returned his terrible smile with one of my own. But it flickered as I recalled that this was not the only news I had to report.

Blaise looked at me expectantly, his own grin faltering as he trailed off meaningfully, "And…?"

My throat was dry, and as I tried to speak it only made a strange clicking sound. I looked down at the table, the wood was the color of dark coffee, of freshly tilled earth. It was a comforting color, especially when compared to the metallic hue of Blaise's eyes. It gave me some nerve.

So, gathering the slim measure of courage available to me, I cleared my throat and said, "I made it into the military academy."

There was a long pause. When he finally spoke, Blaise sounded confused, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Well…that's a good thing, I think?"

"It was. I learned a lot about the equipment and weapons they use, and the different branches. They have a new branch, actually, it's called the Scouting Legion. They trek beyond the confines of—"

"What," he bit off the word harshly, "do you mean by _was_?"

I looked up, and regretted it. Blaise's charming veneer began giving way to the cruel, vicious killer lurking beneath. It started in his smile, showing too many teeth for a friendly grin. At the same time his eyes grew cold, and hard, and angry.

This was my father's right hand. The most dangerous assassin in all of Wall Iris. The most lethal weapon in the King's armory.

I shuddered, but kept my face carefully blank. "I was expelled, however—"

He struck the table hard. There was a loud cracking that sounded disturbingly like the breaking of bones. The tavern went eerily silent, wary eyes watching us intently, waiting for a brawl to place bets on. But Blaise put on his best, charming smile, reclaiming his calm demeanor.

He shifted easily in his chair, taking on the skin of a vastly different man from before. _Easy as breathing_ , I thought numbly. The man of many faces. My master was truly a marvel to behold.

"Sorry, there was a spider. Yeh know, one of em' fat, brown ones. I hate them kind," he said with their same rough accent.

The women shrieked and the men laughed, saluting him with their mugs mockingly. Blaise raised his and gave an earthy chuckle. But when his eyes found their way back to me, they were filled with a smoldering malice.

"Blaise," I pleaded, my voice pathetically small in my own ears. "Please, just listen—"

"Shut your fucking mouth before I do it for you," he murmured acidly, dropping all pretense of a smile. "I don't know how you managed to get yourself expelled from their pathetic excuse for a school, and I don't want to. All I want is for you to shut that damn mouth of yours long enough to hear my instruction," he paused briefly. Then, as an afterthought, added, "Which you will follow unquestionably and without fail."

"But, Blaise, if you would just listen, then you would—"

The sharp line of his jaw feathered threateningly. I was relieved that there were witnesses surrounding us. He'd never touch me here…would he? I shifted back a half-step. The motion was instinctive, like clutching a wounded hand.

His eyes were afire with a barely contained rage. "You are too impetuous and impulsive to lead," he said sharply. "I am demoting you as the leader of this mission, as you are no longer fit to lead—if you ever were to begin with. Your father will be disappointed, but not entirely surprised."

I winced, but did not move back any further.

He continued in the same clipped tone. "Reiner will take your place as the leader. You follow his orders, no questions. Understand?"

I nodded numbly.

"If you cannot do this, then do not return home. It would not be good for you." His voice cut like saw through bone. There was a poorly veiled threat within that statement: _I will hurt you_.

Downing the mug that had sat untended before him, he set it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. A strangely barbaric gesture that seemed out of place in his aristo manner. He gave me a look of profound disdain.

"I have one last thing for you," he said, his voice pouring out thick and sweet as warm honey. He stood gracefully from his chair. "Reiner has strength. Annie has cunning. And Berthold has focus. So, tell me Ary, what do you have to offer?"

I flushed hotly, stammering, "I—I have—"

He didn't wait for me to figure it out, just turned with studied ease and headed toward the door. But before he made it to the door he stopped at a table where three cloaked figures sat. Blaise stooped to whisper to one them. And even with the hood, I recognized the way he moved. I knew the shape of his chin poking from the shadows of the cowl, the way his left hand brushed against his scabbard.

Reiner.

His dark eyes glittered faintly, watching me as he listened to Blaise. His smile was like a knife at my throat.

XXX

"So," I said carefully, "what's the plan, Commander?"

Reiner paused, resting his sword over his lap, his whetstone balanced precariously on his knee. He looked at me as if he'd forgotten I was even there. "For us? To infiltrate the walls and tear them down, like we were supposed to from the beginning. For you? To stay out of our way."

"What?" I snapped, a numb anger in my voice. I was still shaken form my conversation with Blaise. "What do you mean "stay out of your way?""

Reiner spoke slower, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Stay out of our way. Be a good girl. Do as you're told. Understand?"

Annie snickered beside him on her stump, her fried trout half-devoured on its skewer. I glowered, my voice shaking with growing rage. "If you ever speak to me like that again, I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you. Understand?"

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

He moved so quickly for his size, and I was exhausted from the trek I'd made across Rose and Maria. I had no time to dodge his punch, hard and heavy as a farmhand swinging an axe. His knuckles met my face and I saw pain-stars behind my eyelids. Somehow I kept my feet beneath me, even as his punch reverberated through me like thunder after lighting strikes.

"I'll be giving the orders from now on, and I say that you keep out of our way until we find some use for you." He sat back down on the broken stump, sharpening his blade again to show the finality of his command.

Silence reigned. Annie continued to munch over her half-eaten trout, while Berthold sat quietly paging through a book. I clenched that terrible silence with my teeth, snarling softly. My hands, tangled in the threadbare cloth of my trousers, making slow fists. My eye was already swelling; it would be black by tomorrow morning.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I tried to speak again, forcing the anger out of my voice. "Reiner, I can help. I have an idea."

He snorted derisively. "I very much doubt that, on both fronts."

Grinding my teeth, I swallowed the first several phrases that came to mind, settling for: "Please, just hear me out."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm strong, too. And clever, and cunning, and focused," I said trying to convince both of us, but my voice was weary and despairing and entirely without conviction. So, I tried again. "Because I have a debt to settle."

My mind flashed pictures of things I had tried to forget for years. My mother, her hair wet with blood, her arms unnaturally twisted, broken at the wrist, the elbow. I tried to speak, to plead my case, but my mouth was dry, and my voice snagged in my throat.

Reiner frowned, placing his glimmering steel in his lap once again. He looked at his fingers holding the whetstone, considering his next words carefully. His wooden eyes met mine. "My decision still stands—"

"No." It was so quiet I could barely hear it.

They looked at me with curious eyes. "What?" Reiner asked.

"No." The single word galvanized me.

Reiner looked perplexed, asking, "No? What do you mean—"

"I don't need you guys," I said evenly. "I can do this myself."

"But—" Reiner started, lifting himself to stand before the dancing flames of our campfire.

I clenched my jaw. "You're not going to keep me from my goal. No one is."

"Aria," Berthold said suddenly, his book closed delicately over one of his long fingers. "For once in your life, I ask you to think about the consequences before you run headlong into a situation."

I was successfully thrown off my stride. Reiner and Annie looked equally as surprised as I felt. But Berthold, if he noticed our matching expressions of disbelief, continued speaking unapologetically, "Do you even understand how completely arrogant and ridiculous you sound right now? You couldn't even manage to make it through their academy, how could you ever take down their civilization? Your only chance is now expired. And seeing as you can't shift, you are utterly useless in breaking down their walls. So, I ask you, Aria Errikson, how do you intend to annihilate an ancient civilization without the help of your teammates?"

"I don't have to take out the entire population, just one man," I replied coolly.

The fire snapped, wood cracking beneath the glowing coals. Berthold's eyes were unreadable as ever, as he said, "And what of Wall Iris? What of the stipulations Blaise set in place? If you leave you may never return. Do you not wish to go home?"

Wall Iris's shining city flashed before me, sitting among the tall mountains of the world like a gem on the crown of a king. But it was never home. And the people there were not my family. My family was dead.

"I have no home." I pivoted on my heel and stalked toward the direction of Wall Maria.

Annie murmured behind me, "I think it's the best thing, really. What use do we have of a non-shifter anyway? She's almost human, after all. She's better off with her own kind…."

I didn't hear the rest.

XXX

I was so hungry my stomach was in knots.

I had been living on my own for a month behind Wall Rose, near but not too-near the academy, trying to survive, strategizing my brilliant plan to somehow kill Levi Ackerman with no progress. Now, I could _only_ think of surviving. Hunger walked beside me, poking me insistently with its sharp little elbow, but there was no food to be had. I had tried my hand at stealing, only to nearly have it chopped off. Literally.

It was an inauspicious beginning to say the least. I had been lucky to have stumbled away with only a hard cuff to the side of my head. I could have been knocked unconscious, or left without a hand, or thrown in jail, instead though I was rewarded with a slight dizziness every time I stood or moved quickly. I guess you could call that luck considering my options, though my temporary vertigo might disagree with you.

So, hardly encouraged by my first foray into thievery, I decided I would try begging.

"Piss 'hawff, filthy runt," the baker sneered, hardly looking in my direction at all.

This was one of the kinder things that had been spat at and on me. Most gave me a swift kick to the ribs or cuff to the ear, calling me any assortment of derogatory names imaginable. Needless to say I had about the same success as I had in thievery, which is to say none at all. So, stomach empty and eyes weary, I tied up my makeshift travel sack—one of my torn shirtsleeves—and made my way back "home."

All things considered, my day hadn't been _that_ bad. I mean, things can always get worse, of that I am certain. And worse they got.

"Shit," I grumbled. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!"

Looking from one street to another, I realized I didn't recognize any of them. In the fullness of time, I became lost. I took a turn too early or too late, then tried to compensate by cutting through an alley like a narrow chasm between two tall buildings. It wound sinuously. Garbage drifted up the walls and filled the cracks between buildings and the alcove doorways. After I had taken several turns I caught the rancid smell of something dead.

"Find yer own! These's mine!" A boy with cheekbones that looked like they'd pierce his skin, and no tunic to his name shook his fists at me. He was gripping a half-eaten rat.

I am ashamed to say that my mouth watered at the sight of a fat, juicy slab of meat. And rat or not, it was the closest I'd been to a meal in a long while. Hunger does strange things to a person, and before I realized what I was doing, I had the boy's bony neck between my dirty hands.

His breath rattled audibly in his chest, trying to squeeze through my fingers. I clenched harder. He thrashed hard against the broken cobblestones, trying to scream, even as his gaunt face went the shade of a winter plum.

"Hey! You! Let em' go! Let my bother go, yeh bastard!" A shout from the end of the alleyway sent me scampering away with what was left of the dead rat: matted fur and a chunk of meaty thigh.

I shoved it in my mouth with a plaintive sigh that only those truly desperate and hopeless can fathom. My stomach mumbled a small thank you. But I heard pounding footfalls closing in behind me and knew that I had to keep moving, even as my head spun with every jolting stride over the stone streets, even as my legs threatened to turn to jelly beneath me. Away. Away. Away.

I had to find my rooftop.

My shelter though, dingy and pathetic as it was, was nowhere nearby. Worse still, the sky was colored the deep purple of twilight. There was no way I would make it back before the sun vanished from the summer sky.

You see, Wall Rose is big enough that you cannot walk from one end to the other in a single day. Not even if you avoid getting lost or accosted in the tangled web of twisting streets and dead end alleys. It was too big, actually. It was vast, immense. Seas of people, forests of buildings, roads wide as rivers. It smelled like urine and sweat and smoke. And I was farther from my rooftop above the seedy tavern, The Golden Serpent, then I'd ever been before. If I had been in my right mind, I never would have wandered so far.

I felt a wild, vicious laughter claw up my throat. Dropping the bones of my dinner, I doubled over with a trembling, uncontrollable laughter. It was no human sound. But between the keen cries of babies and screams for help and shouts for wares, it was hardly audible.

I had failed, again. I couldn't even manage surviving this wretched place, let alone annihilating it. I was a delusional maniac for even considering such a feat within my grasp.

Still howling with irrepressible, mirthless laughter, I hardly noticed the rough grip circling my shoulders.

"This em', Johnny?"

The hands spun me around, shoving me hard against an ivy-infested wall. I yelped, the laughter dying in my throat.

Johnny was twice my size with dark hair and savage eyes. The dirt that smudged his face gave him the appearance of a beard, making his young face strangely cruel. He smiled a dangerous, deadly smile. "Yep, that's em'. That's the kid who tried ter kill my brother."

Two other boys jerked me away from the wall. I screamed as one of them twisted my arm. Johnny continued smiling and ran a hand through his hair. "We're gonna kill yeh, boy."

He said it like someone comments on the weather. It sent ice skittering over my bones. I was too weak to take on four boys twice my size. So I did the only thing I could, I called for help.

None came.

They snickered, tossing me into a nearby alleyway like a lifeless doll. I struggled to my feet. An elbow met me sharply in the side of the head and the alley tilted crazily around me.

"Please," I moaned. "Don't. I'm sorry—"

Johnny's expression curdled into something murderous. His hands grabbed my shoulders. "Did I say yeh could talk, boy?" He shouted, pressing me hard into the brick wall. He smelled like old sweat and rancid meat. "Did I?!" he slammed his forehead into my face and I felt a sharp crack followed by an explosion of pain.

Laughter came at me from every direction, and I heard one scrape something metallic across the brick.

"Here Johnny, take this."

Something in me snapped. I threw myself at Johnny. I clawed madly at his face and neck, but he was a veteran of too many street fights to let me get close to anything vital. One of my fingernails tore a line of blood across his face from ear to chin. Then he was against me, pressing me back until I hit the alley wall. My head struck brick, and I would have fallen if he hadn't been grinding me into the wall. I gasped for breath and only then realized I'd been screaming all the while. My throat was like sandpaper, raw and painful.

I gasped for breath again and flailed blindly, knocking my head against the wall. I found my face pressed into his shoulder and bit down hard. I felt his skin break under my teeth and tasted blood. Johnny screamed and jerked away from me. I drew a breath and winced at a tearing pain in my chest. Before I could move or think, Johnny grabbed me again. He bludgeoned me up against the wall once, twice. My head whipsawed back and forth, knocking off the wall. Then he grabbed me by the throat, spun me around, and threw me to the ground.

When Johnny threw me to the ground, my body was almost too numb to feel it. His expression twisted and his face went a livid red. "He bit me!" he shouted and swung a vicious kick at my head. I tried to get out of the way, but his kick caught me in the kidney and sent me sprawling over the bloody cobblestones.

"Look what you did!" Johnny continued to howl above me. A kick caught me in the side and rolled me halfway over. The edges of my vision started to darken. I balled my bloody hands into stinging fists as the others joined in, kicking me in the head and ribs and legs.

"Stop." I think I whispered it, but I can't be sure.

Johnny pulled back his foot again. I tried to put up my hands to keep it away, but my arms just twitched and someone kicked me in the stomach. I vomited weakly onto the cobblestones.

And then, blessedly, it was over.

"You there, stop! Garrison Patrol!" A new voice shouted. A heartbeat of stillness was followed by a scuffle and a flurry of pattering feet. A second later, heavy boots pounded past and faded in the distance.

I tried to say something, to call for help, but a dribbling groan was all I could manage before the world went mercifully black.

XXX

I came to and found I could thankfully open my eyes. The pale light of morning blinded me momentarily, and then I realized that it was more than just an adjustment to the light that was hindering my sight.

My vision was blurry and my nose felt larger than the rest of my head. I prodded it delicately. Broken. Having mended my injuries on numerous occasions, I put one hand on each side of my nose and twisted it sharply back into place. I clenched my teeth against a cry of pain, and my eyes filled with tears. I blinked them away and was relieved when I saw the street without the painful blurriness of a moment ago.

Rolling onto my side, I took a sharp inhale of the smoky, rancid air, and stood shakily. The alley spun around me, but I had to get back to my rooftop. I couldn't afford to be out in the open with those heathens still wandering out there somewhere. So, hobbling, I made my way out into the chaos of the early morning shoppers.

Greasy clouds were billowing into the air around the butcher shop, but I didn't pause, just kept trudging along until finally, _finally_ I came upon my hideout.

"Home sweet home," I said.

Tossing my travel sack over one shoulder, I moved quickly up the side of the building. Right foot rain barrel, left foot window ledge, left hand iron drainpipe. I swung myself onto the lip of the first story roof. I hopped across the alley to the roof of The Golden Serpent. Only then did I relinquish the breath I'd been withholding my entire trek. It felt like I was being stabbed in the lung, but it was a relief to be back in my safe-zone.

I allowed myself to assess the aches and pains of a dozen injuries that I had been forcing myself to ignore. I felt them out, one by one. I had several painful ribs, although I couldn't tell if they were broken or if the cartilage was torn. I was dizzy and nauseous when I moved my head too quickly, probably a concussion. My nose was broken, and I had more bruises and scrapes than I could conveniently count. I was also hungry, but I was growing accustomed to the dull pain lingering in my abdomen.

I had taken many beatings in my life, and this was not the worst, nor would it be the last. It seemed my life was in no real peril, so I did the most prudent thing I could. I slept.

XXX

Overhead the sky was the color of smoke. The leaves of the trees, marigold and tangerine and scarlet, were just beginning to darken around the edges. Soon they would drop to the ground. Three months had passed since I'd been left to my own devices in this foreign set of walls, and somehow I had survived.

Thievery became second nature to me, namely pickpocketing. Begging, though, was still a difficult task for me, which I blamed on my damned pride. I also blamed my countless beatings on that lingering shred of pride in my chin, on my tongue, and around my eyes; it seemed to permeate me, and left me with dozens of pale slivers of scars crisscrossing my body.

After I killed Johnny, his gang had left me alone, so at least some of the beatings had stopped. He was the first boy I'd ever killed. It left me breathless, nauseous, sleepless and paranoid. I wish I could say that it was because he'd confronted me again, but that would be a lie.

So I clawed out my days of living grubby, shoeless (don't ask), and a murdering criminal. My only solace was that it was one less human in this stinking city, but I wasn't nearly as comforted by that thought as I used to be. I was no longer sure who my enemies were anymore, who I despised more: humans or shifters.

I struggled with that thought for a long time before I finally found my answer.

XXX

It was a terrible night. Unforgivingly cold after days of constant, heavy snowfall. Glittering icicles hung delicately off the gutters, making it treacherous to climb off and onto the rooftop of the tavern. But a girl has to eat, and in order to do that I'd need to pick a fair few pockets.

I just happened to pick the wrong one.

I'd been hounding his lush, burgundy cloak through the twisted streets of the Diamond District for a quarter of an hour when he finally made a sharp turn down a shadowy alleyway. Perfect. The darkness had become my closest friend as of late. It was easy to warp people's mind into believing you were an imposing giant of a man when they couldn't see a shivering, waifish girl, it just took a little trickery with the voice and presto! They were emptying their pockets faster than I could pull my makeshift shank from my waistband.

It was easy, safe, painless. Until it wasn't.

There was a swollen moon hanging like a glowing egg upon the sky, illuminating the otherwise dark alley just enough to make out the cloaked man I'd been dogging. But he wasn't alone. There were four others. Three cloaks of rich, deep burgundy, and one sobbing girl, bound and gagged in a torn white nightgown. It was splattered with blood, though she looked uncut.

Her eyes met mine. They were impossibly large, bigger even than the moon above us. And they screamed what her mouth could not: _help me._

I felt a shiver run through me that wasn't from the biting wind cutting through the narrow chasm of the alleyway. "What," I growled, "do you think you're doing?"

The one I'd been following turned his cowl toward me, but I could make out nothing beneath the endless shadow looming beneath. "Mind your own, boy, if you know what's good for you."

I didn't.

He turned away, reaching for the little girl, but his hand was hanging like a broken twig from his wrist, sawed halfway through. My shank leapt, caught the moonlight and gleamed darkly with his blood. I sliced his throat before he could scream.

There was a flurry of startled motion as the others scrambled for weapons or safety. I struck one in the eye, then tore open his belly. He was in too much shock to scream and fell bonelessly upon the icy cobblestones.

One had disappeared, his cloak flapping behind him as he pelted around the corner. I foolishly chased after him, only to be attacked by the third cloak I'd forgotten about in my fury. He had a smile like a knife wrapped in velvet as he lifted his own glittering blue steel. I could only hunch my shoulders and protect my neck and face as he lunged for my throat, offering him ample shoulder to tear into. But I was drunk on adrenaline and rage, and I felt nothing as the blade sliced through the meat of me smooth and quick as butter.

He laughed a terrible laugh.

I shouted something incomprehensible and sliced a deep, jagged line across his throat. The sound of his laughter echoed through the silent alley long after he fell, bleeding and choking to death on his own blood. I watched him with a morbid fascination as the light slowly left his beady black eyes.

"Thank—thank you," the little girl said behind me, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

I spun away from the corpses, the white-hot anger cooling slowly. My arm stung where his knife had pierced me. "You're welcome…," I trailed off, waiting for her to fill the space with her name.

"Elizabeth."

"What a pretty name," I said in a voice that I had heard my mother use when coaxing skittish animals. "Are you okay, Elizabeth?"

She nodded her blonde head once, but her eyes looked wild around the edges like a petrified pony. I approached her cautiously, reaching out one bloodied hand. She observed it curiously, as if she'd never been offered a hand to hold. Then she clasped her tiny fingers with mine and we made our way out of the alleyway.

XXX

"Where are we going?" Elizabeth bobbed along next to me, her teeth chattering loudly.

I squeezed her hand. "There's a doctor who helps those like us. I've heard he's a kindly man." I saw her mouth tense around the corners, and cooed gently. "Don't worry he's not like those men from before. Not all men are bad."

She looked uncertain for a moment before weighing me with glimmering, gem-like eyes. "Yes, they are."

I rocked back at that. Part of me wondered how many times they…no, I didn't even want to think about that.

"You're right, Elizabeth," I said. " _Most_ men are bad, but I've heard this Dr. Yeager is an exceptionally kind fellow."

"You're not gonna leave me there by myself are you?" She clutched my hand tighter, her little fingers icy against mine.

A burning pain lanced down my arm and I grimaced. "No. I'll be there the whole time."

"Promise?"

The sharp smell of coppery blood and cloying death raced up my nose. Quicker than I could struggle against them the memories of my family came rushing back over me like a tidal wave. I swallowed hard against the dry lump forming in my throat, whispering, "Promise."

XXX

Dr. Yeager's "clinic" was in the section of Wall Rose that had been ravaged by fire some years ago, and the building's few remaining roof beams stretched like dark bones against the first pale light of dawn. However, it was two stories and only the first floor was used during the colder months, so we would still be warm, which was good because if she stayed out in this bitter winter air much longer she'd surely suffer hypothermia.

"Are we here?" She asked groggily, her eyes half-lidded and drifting.

My breath plumed in front of me as I said, "Yes. We're here. You're safe."

And with that her tiny, broken body collapsed into my arms.

XXX

"She's going to be okay, physically anyway." Dr. Yeager's sharp face was serious as he circled me. "Psychologically…only time will tell."

I sat in a rickety wooden chair beside the cot Elizabeth lie peacefully upon. Her blonde curls spread about her like a golden halo on her pillow. The blood that had stained her cheeks and fingers was gone, and that tattered, scarlet-and-white nightgown had been tossed out. Looking over her now you'd never guess the atrocities she'd just faced only hours ago.

Dr. Yeager chattered on, but I couldn't focus on the words. I was exhausted and in pain. My wound had ceased its bleeding, but was crusted to my sleeve, so each time I moved my arm it sent a twinge of pain lancing from my shoulder to my wrist. But I would live. I had a gut and needle back at my hideout that I had been using to stitch my wounds up with, and this one would be much easier than the one I'd attempted on my shoulder blade.

"So," he said stopping in front of me as he raised one thin, dark brow quizzically behind the round rings of his spectacles, "how about it? Will you let me stitch up the wound on your shoulder?"

Startled, I slid further into the chair, the front two legs coming off the cracked tile of the floor, nearly toppling me over. Instinct had me reaching into my torn trousers for the makeshift shank. "How—?"

My expression wrung a smile from him that crinkled his silvery-grey eyes. "I'm a doctor, it's my job to assess all of the bodies that come through those doors." His eyes twinkled, shockingly sharp teeth glittering in the lamplight. "Even the ones too proud to check themselves in as patients."

The chair clomped back over the floor with a sound like horses' hooves coming to a stop on market day. "I'm fine," I said coolly. "It's just a—"

He prodded my shoulder with a finger and I bit back a scream, swallowing it like a bitter tonic. Growling, I snapped, "What the hell was that for?!"

"You need medical attention. I need to clean the cut and sew it," he replied clinically. Then, seeing my grimace, he added, "It will only take a moment, and—" He paused, standing and turning to open a cabinet that stood against one of the walls, "give me just a moment and I will numb the burning that must be all across your shoulder." He clinked a few bottles together as he rummaged around on its shelves.

"I don't need it, Dr. Yeager," I said stoically. "You can stitch me closed the way I am."

Blinking, he paused with one arm deep into the cabinet. He withdrew it to turn and level me with those familiar grey eyes. His gaunt face turned with a frown. "Have you ever had stitches?"

I nodded once.

"Without anything to soften the pain?"

I nodded again.

"You know," he said, "it's one thing to be strong, and entirely another to be stupid."

I snarled softly. "I don't need any medicine, dammit. I've done perfectly fine without it before."

He looked down at me skeptically. "Let me see then," he said, as if he didn't quite believe me.

I sighed, but conceded after a moment of glaring. My shoulder protested in agony as I used it to pull my pantleg up over my knee. It revealed a handspan worth of scars on my outer thigh just above my knee where an early victim of my pickpocketing excursions had caught me unarmed. Never again, though. Hence, the shank.

Dr. Yeager looked at it closely, holding his glasses with one hand. He gave it a gentle prod with his index finger before straightening. This close I could see silver threads streaming through his hair and beard. "Sloppy," he pronounced with a mild distaste.

I glared petulantly. I had thought I'd done a damn good job considering my lack of resources. "My gut broke halfway through," I said stiffly. "And, I wasn't working under the most ideal circumstances."

He made a tsk sound. "Excuses, excuses." He chided me like a father chides his most prized son. "A true surgeon could have pulled it off with great success no matter what the circumstances were."

"Well," I said easily, "I'm not a surgeon, so—"

His eyes glittered behind the glass of his spectacles mischievously. "You ought to be with how many times you've apparently practiced."

I laughed, nodding my head in defeat. "Touche, old man. Touche."

"And you like this kind of work?" He asked suddenly.

I bit my lip, thinking. "Yes."

Dr. Yeager was silent for a while, still examining the angry pinkish lines spidering down my thigh like the gnarled roots of a great tree. He stroked his lip with a finger and looked at me with half-lidded eyes. "Show me where the gut broke."

I pointed. I'd never forget.

He prodded the old scar once more, then shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, and back down. "You might be telling the truth. I don't know." He pulled out a white cloth and antiseptic to clean the gash in my shoulder. The bottle of numbing ointment lay beside it. _Stubborn bastard,_ I groused internally. "How would you like to stay here at the clinic?"

XXX


	4. Chapter Four: Foolish Pride

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Attack on Titan.**

 **Warning: Canon divergence. Mature language and content.**

 **Author's Note: Hello everyone! I apologize for how long it took this time around to update. I was really not feeling inspired or happy with anything that I was writing. In any case, I hope you all like it. Thank you to my beta, winged gorganzola! And thank you to those of you now following this story: Shiraski, HazeHero, and SafyrRaven!**

 **In reply to guest bb, for whom I must thank for leaving my very first review, I do hope that it turns out to be a good story! I'm glad you can "feel it." Hahaha! :D**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Four: Foolish Pride**

"How would you like to stay here at the clinic?" Dr. Yeager asked. "You and Elizabeth could share a room."

I barked a laugh, moving the wide collar of my tunic over my wounded shoulder so he could access it. But when I met his eyes, they held none of the playfulness from before, only a strange seriousness.

Raising an eyebrow, the laughter died on my lips. "Wha—you're serious?" I said, almost without meaning to.

"Of course," he said with the barest hint of a smile.

"Well…I…," I started dumbly. The glint of his needle caught my eye then, and I cringed as it neared my flesh. But I didn't feel anything, only a dull tugging. My shoulder was numb. "What the—I thought I told you not to use—"

"And I recall," he said, scowling at me in mock severity, "mentioning something about the subtle difference between stupidity and strength."

Sulking on the metal table, I grumbled, "I'm not stupid."

"I never said _you_ were stupid," Dr. Yeager corrected me. "But declining the help of others for the sake of your pride _is_."

I scrambled for something clever to say, but by the time I found my tongue he'd finished stitching my wound with a great sigh that seemed to leave him deflated.

"There you are, good as new." He slid from his stool, placing the gut and needle on the bedside table with other, less-familiar tools. Standing, he strode toward the porcelain bowl atop the counter and rinsed his hands, adding, "Well, as good as one can expect, I suppose. I'm not a miracle-worker, after all."

Carefully resituating my collar, I avoided the perfect row of stitches embedded in my shoulder. _Not_ _bad_ , I admitted reluctantly to myself. "I'd say you're pretty damn close."

He flicked his hands dry, craning his neck around to peer at me with one glittering grey eye. "Compliments? I'm shocked. As for your language, well, it isn't befitting of a lady."

"Excuse me?" To say I was startled would be an understatement. No one had uncovered my gender, and at times I almost forgot that I was a girl myself, so how…?

"Your disguise is good, _girl_ , but I'm used to looking past the surface, into the tissue and bones of a person. I quite enjoy it, actually," he said, moving back toward his stool.

I shook my head fiercely, rising from the bed, more akin to a wounded animal than a boy or girl. "No. No, I'm a boy. I am."

I couldn't let word spread about my identity. It would lead those blood-thirsty heathens left in Johnny's gang to new ideas on how to punish me for their leader's death. I shuddered at the thought of their filthy hands on my body, their broken, rotting teeth nipping at my neck, their legs wedged between my legs as I screamed and thrashed and snarled.

 _Don't scream, Aria. It's just me. I love you, remember?_

And it was like the room was closing in around me. I tried to breathe more deeply but my heart was stiff and tight inside my chest _. "No,"_ my mind howled so loudly it was a wonder that the doctor didn't hear it, _"Not again. Never again. No. Please."_

My hands clenched into fists so tight with rage I feared I'd snap the world in two. _Breathe, Aria. Just breathe._ I tried but I could simply not unclench. I could not catch my breath.

A line of concern filled the space between Dr. Yeager's brows. "Are you all right? Here, sit. I'll get you some tea and—"

"I can't—I—I just—"

"Yes," he said softly, "you can. Stay. Let me help you."

I don't recall backing into the door, but suddenly it was behind me. The wood pressed into my back and hands, warm and inviting. I thrust it open and ran.

XXX

I made it back to my hideout without ripping open my stitches, miraculously. Then, scaling the side of the building quicker than a squirrel, mindful of the ice lining the gutters, I slid beneath the cluster of fallen beams I'd arranged over a few crates. But as I lay there, the pale light of dawn peaking over the horizon, I could not find rest.

It wasn't for the chill wind sweeping through my den, nor the throbbing pain in my shoulder. It was for fear.

I would be hunted by two gangs now. There was no time for sleep. Johnny's gang had cornered me several times on the streets, and while they were a nuisance, they were only grubby, shoeless urchins like myself. The real threat was the cloaked man I'd let get away last night, with his shining blue steel and his rich red cape. They could pose a serious problem if they came across me again. Who knew how many more of them there were. A few. A dozen. A hundred. The possibilities were limitless.

Gritting my teeth, I rolled onto my side, mindful of my stitched shoulder. Why? Why did I let myself get involved? Why didn't I just turn away from those men and that little girl?

A tickling finger of guilt ran itself along the edge of my heart. Elizabeth. I promised I'd be there with her…

Those impossibly wide doe-eyes flash through my head, but I push them aside. I could really kick my own ass right now. I don't like getting involved with other people's business. I didn't have time for it. And yet I willingly involved myself in the trouble of others. And all I seem to have done was make a mess of everything. Like always.

Dr. Yeager was right, I am stupid and proud. Stupidly proud, and hungry for vengeance that I'll never achieve.

" _Do not fail her—us. Your family, Aria. Remember what they did to you."_

His voice rang out like a bell, sharp and clear and everywhere at once. I could never escape him. The parts of my mind that were asleep come fitfully awake. The painful memories gathering dust—the ones I had grown used to avoiding—come crashing over me. I'd been ignoring them, the same way a cripple keeps weight off an injured leg.

I had hoped that in time they would heal, but some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. And sometimes there is simply no healing to be done at all. The saying "time heals all wounds" is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest fester and become stones in your heart.

I had almost forgotten what her voice sounded like as she sang me to sleep; had nearly forgotten the feel of her lips over my forehead. But I had never forgotten what her dead eyes looked like, staring endlessly at the blood-red sky, the unnatural twist of her body, the smell of her blood on the wind. It was like a wound ripping open. She was dead—they all were—and I was terribly alone.

And that great weight that had been forgotten for just a moment came crashing down again, worse than before because I wasn't ready for it. I laid there my chest aching and my breath coming hard, knowing deep inside that nothing would ever be right, ever again, no matter if I exacted my revenge or not.

You see, the time I'd spent alone on the streets had instilled an iron-hard practicality. I knew revenge was nothing more than a childish fantasy. I wasn't a shifter. I was almost human, as Reiner and Annie had so often reminded me. What could I possibly do?

 _Nothing. You can't do anything without making your situation worse._

I pressed my hands over my face, pretending that the wetness I found there was melted snowflakes.

XXX

The noise of the market rose to an irregular hum around me.

It was market day, and chaos was in high order today, making my work as a thief that much easier. Merchants wheedled and cajoled customers, hoping to lure them into their shops. Should that fail, they were not shy about bursting into fits of hostility: cursing or even openly bullying customers. No one would notice a missing coin or purse in this mob of bodies. These were the best days to fill your pockets with someone else's.

I dodged the angry flailing arms of a jeweler, keeping my eyes peeled for my prey. I'd done this a hundred times before now, watching the crowd like a wolf does a flock of sheep. Looking for the weak, the slow, the foolish.

And her pockets were begging to be looted.

She wore an elaborate burgundy dress with long skirts, a tight waist, and matching burgundy gloves that rose all the way to her elbows. Her cloak, lined with white fur, was a beautiful shade of sable. But I wasn't interested in her terrific sense of style, I was interested in the distinctive metallic clink that echoed with her every graceful stride.

I was so close now. So close that I could smell the outrageous amounts of perfume she wore. It was like a bouquet of roses, summer strawberries and outrageous amounts of wine. I held my breath and pressed closer.

Almost there. Just another small step and I would brush against her, accidentally, of course. I'd have enough silver to buy a new shirt, food and…

But there was a vague unease in the pit of my stomach, like the feeling you get when someone's staring at the back of your head. It followed me until my instincts got the better of me and I slipped into a side alley quick as a fish. As I stood pressed against a wall, waiting, the feeling faded. After a few minutes, I began to feel foolish. I trusted my instincts, but they gave false alarms every now and again. I waited a few more minutes just to be sure, then moved back into the street.

But I got a strange feeling near the base of my neck. Someone was watching me. On the street you either develop a sensitivity to certain things, or your life is miserable and short. Well, short in any case.

Covertly, I craned my neck around, searching for the eyes pointed in my direction. I expected an MP, or a wary vendor, or even a fellow thief guarding their territory, but there was nothing. No one met my gaze any longer than necessary, which is to say for more than the space of half a breath.

So, I proceeded to do what I do best: skulking and causing general mischief.

My stomach grumbled angrily. I hadn't eaten in at least three days that I could recall. But I'd lost track of my thoughts beneath a blanketing grief for perhaps two more days, so in all I was going on five days without so much as a crumb of bread in my system.

Spotting a basket overflowing with bread and meat and produce, I shifted my shoulders back and forth hungrily, like a cat about to pounce. I edged closer, floating over the thin layer of brownish snow covering the road. My fingers had just begun closing over the loaf of bread standing halfway out of the wicker basket, when I felt a hand close around my wrist.

 _So fast._ I didn't even have time to gasp, to pull away, or fight back before he tugged me into a nearby alleyway. When he spun, the hood of his navy-blue cloak settled back over his shoulders, revealing familiar grey eyes behind circular spectacles.

"Dr. Yeager?"

"You're a thief?" He didn't sound affronted, just mildly amused. His firm grip loosened over my wrist and he stuffed the loaf of bread back into its respective place among winter apples and rare meats.

I blinked at him, fighting the urge to laugh. Of all the people in this damned city, I would rob the _only_ one that had showed me a hint of kindness. More's the pity.

"Obviously," I drawled, brushing off my tattered trousers and secretly swiping the velvet purse dangling from his hip.

It seemed that he'd be doing me more kindness that afternoon, albeit unwillingly. I never claimed to be above stealing from the kind, good folk. Their pockets are just as full and useful to me as anyone else's.

"Well," he said, as I straightened to look him in the eye, "you aren't a very _observant_ thief, are you?"

I didn't have time to fully ponder over the cryptic edge to that statement, or the mysterious glimmer in his eyes, because he was already moving on, asking clinically, "How's the shoulder?"

"It's—," I began, but then he was tugging my collar over my shoulder, exposing the puckered flesh to the icy-chill of the wind. "Hey! What the—"

"It's healing quite nicely. Very good, very good," he murmured happily to himself, practically patting his own back. Then, reaching into a pocket lining his cloak, he handed me a small glass jar. "Here. Take this. It will keep you from scratching it in your sleep."

Blinking, I cocked my chin dumbly. "How did you—?"

A hint of a smile played around his lips as he pressed the jar into my hand, his bright eyes dancing. "I'm _observant_."

I narrowed my eyes. The beginnings of a protest dying on my lips as he frowned reproachfully, staring at me as if he were observing me through a microscope. "Where in the name of God is your cloak? And mittens? You must be freezing."

"I'm fine." I shrugged.

I couldn't feel my hands. Or face. But I was growing accustomed to that perpetual state of numbness.

He made a low sound that could have been an amused chuckle or an irritated grunt. The wind tugged at his cloak with gusts sharp as talons, making my teeth clatter loudly behind my frozen lips. His cloak swirled in a flurry motion, looking like a bolt of sky at summer dusk. It wrapped around me, still warm from where it had hugged his own body.

"There. Now you won't show up at my door with walking pneumonia." He fastened the silver clasp around my neck with a small smile.

Pulling off his gloves, he held them out to me, urging me to grab them. I did, feeling a sudden surge of shame. How could I steal from someone so willing to help me? He'd probably give me his purse if I just asked him. But pride is a strange thing, and old habits die slow deaths. So I kept his purse, feeling the gratifying weight pressed snugly against the inside of my wrist along with the other purse I'd stolen from an unsuspecting gentleman earlier that day.

"They'll be a little big on you, but at least you won't be at risk of frostbite," he said, watching as I slid the worn leather over my fingers.

The heat was heavenly. It had been too long since I'd felt any warmth in my fingers. It was strange.

I spoke without looking up. "Thank you, Dr. Yeager," I said softly, my voice rough with emotion.

Living in that pestilent cesspit of a city I had learned many things it would have been easier to live without: brutality, grit, hatred. But I had seldom found generosity and kindness. To be honest, I didn't deserve either of those things. I'd stolen and schemed and murdered. And yet, here was this stranger literally giving me the clothes off his back.

It felt like storybook nonsense, and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he just looked me over with curious eyes, his wolfish smile sharpening his features playfully. "Don't go getting all sentimental on me. It's just a cloak and gloves."

I shook my head scornfully. "Fine. I won't be polite next time—"

"Next time?" he said bemusedly. "Who said anything about a next time? Are you assuming I am going to continue my generosity?"

Stammering stupidly, I looked down at my hands, trying to collect my thoughts, but they wouldn't fall into any sort of orderly pattern. He gave a short, barking laugh. "You'd be correct. I have a soft spot for the bent and broken things of this world."

I wanted to protest, to say that I was neither bent nor broken, but that would be a lie, and I didn't have the energy to argue anyway. So I remained silent, finding the strength to look up from my hands. His eyes were vastly amused, full of laughter. "I expect I will be seeing you again very soon. Keep out of trouble, if that's possible, little thief."

Another cryptic statement. But he was gone before I could press him with any curious questions, disappearing around the corner of the alley.

 _What a strange man,_ I thought, fingering the fine, thick wool of my new cloak.

A growl tore through my stomach once more, pulling me from my reverie. "Alright, alright, I'll feed you. Just wait—what?"

The purses were gone. That comforting weight gone from my wrist.

 _That bastard._

XXX

"You bastard."

"Ah," he said, without an ounce of shock or confusion. "Back so soon? Don't tell me you're in need of stitches again."

I gave him a fierce look, as if hoping to burn him with my eyes. "Listen, I don't know how you managed to steal my purse, but you better fuc—"

"That's enough of that, young lady. There are children present." As he opened the door of the ramshackle clinic, a gentle welter of conversation poured out onto the street. There was the distinct sound of tinkling, childish laughter.

I glared, but lowered my voice, saying, "Alright, you've had your fun, old man. Now give me back my money."

He raised a speculative eyebrow. " _Your_ money?"

"Yes, my money. You know the purse that doesn't belong to you? I know you stole it, now give it back. Now," I said the last word fiercely, almost snarling it.

He looked vaguely amused at first, then slightly taken aback, then, as I glared up at him, he gave a faint, thin smile and opened the door farther, making it an invitation. I stepped past him, my feet slapping hard against the cool tiles of the clinic.

The familiar tang of antiseptic filled the air. I saw the rows of metal-framed beds, each covered by a hanging white sheet, hiding the patients coughing and wheezing beneath.

Somehow I missed the familiar doe-eyes staring up at me from a pair of chairs near the corner of the entryway. But I did not miss the tiny white hand arcing through the air like an angry dove. I caught it in one hand.

Elizabeth looked up at me, her eyes glistening furiously. "You left me! You promised to stay with me, and you left! Liar! Liar, liar, liar, liar!"

Thrashing against my hold on her thin wrist, she beat my chest with one fist. I grabbed it gently, holding it against my heart. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth."

"How could you? You promised. You promised!" she screamed, her voice was thick with tears.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I had to go away, but I'm here now."

There was a tiny sob that froze my heart solid and broke off a piece of it. Looking down at her, I saw a piece of myself reflected there. Her cheeks were hollow and her bare arms waifishly narrow. Her long hair was so fine that it trailed her, floating in the air like a cloud. But beyond just her appearance, I related to that raw desperation in her voice. I recalled the empty promises of loved ones that never returned to save me. That never returned at all.

Of all the awful things I'd been part of these last couple days, this was unquestionably the worst of it.

She looked up at me with those huge, tearful eyes, and asked, "Will you leave me again?"

I felt my throat tighten. "No," I said with more assurance than I truly felt. "No, I won't."

But I didn't even know how to take care of myself, there was no way I'd be able to properly look after a little girl. Still, I knew that I had to find a way. As she sniffed and wiped her blotchy face, offering me a tiny, brave smile, I knew that I was stuck with her.

"I'm so happy that you came back. I was so worried. I was so scared," she sniffled, breaking free from my loose grip and flinging her arms around me in a clumsy hug.

Smilingly softly, I felt my heart thaw a bit. "It's okay. I'm here now, you're safe."

Dr. Yeager cleared his throat once, and I backed away from Elizabeth who was blushing a deep crimson. A smile curved his lips as he looked sideways at me. "She's been asking about you ever since she came to. What a stroke of luck that I ran into you today."

I ignored the urge to roll my eyes, not forgetting my real reason for being here. "Yes, a stroke of luck indeed."

"I'm sorry," he said, gesturing to another child sitting in one of the chairs beside the front windows. "Let me introduce you to my son. Eren, this is A—what was your name again?" he asked, realizing he hadn't received my name.

"Amos," I said, eyeing the aloof doctor warily. "Amos Fischer."

His eyes had taken on a curious look by this point, as if he'd been expecting an entirely different name, but he pushed it aside as he said, " _Amos_ …yes, Amos. And this is my son, Eren."

His son looked up through shaggy brown hair, his arms crossed cautiously over his chest. He was skinny as a twig and so short his head barely made it up to my breastbone. His green eyes were huge and bright, like a blazing green fire.

"Nice to meet you, Eren." I reached out a hand to shake his, as was the custom of humans, but he just eyed my hand suspiciously and kept his own firmly crossed over his chest.

His father cuffed his ear, saying sternly, "Manners, Eren."

Eren grimaced, but shook my hand briefly. "Nice to meet you," he said flatly.

Sighing, Dr. Yeager pushed him aside, shooing him with one hand. "Alright, that's enough. Now, take Elizabeth to the kitchen and find some food for our guest."

"Bu—," Eren started.

The doctor eyed him fiercely from behind his spectacles, and Eren slumped his shoulders, dejectedly. "Fine. Come on, Lizzie."

"But I want to stay with Amos," she whined.

Dr. Yeager offered her a gentle smile. "He'll be here when you get back."

"Promise?" She turned those doe-eyes on me.

I nodded. "Promise."

They disappeared behind a swinging door on the opposite side of the row of beds. We were alone. Well, mostly. Dr. Yeager turned and caught my eye, his mouth quirking up into a soft smirk. "Your soft side astounds me, _Amos_."

"Give me my money," I snapped, disregarding his mockery. "Now."

"Again with this "your money" talk," he said. "I think we both know that the purse I took from you was not _your_ money."

"Finders keepers, right?" I said archly.

His thin brows rose at that, his eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light of the sconces upon the walls. "Indeed. And I believe that _I_ am the one that found them on your wrist."

I worked my mouth silently, but he cut me off before I could properly respond, "I did say you weren't a very observant thief. You didn't notice that I'd used the very same trick you'd pulled on me, did you?"

"Actually," I said, "I did, which is why I am here. So, give me the goddamned purse and let us be done with this."

He clucked his tongue, that infuriating smirk still stretching the sharp lines of his mouth. "You have much to learn, little thief." Then, handing me the violet, velvet purse I'd plucked from the gentleman at the market, he said, "I could help you—"

"Not interested."

"There you go again, choosing foolish pride over strategic humility," he said. "I'm not saying that you have to give up your pride, Amos, but you need to set it aside for just a moment before you get yourself kill—"

"What the hell do you know about me, old man? Nothing! You have no idea what I think or how I feel, and I don't owe you an explanation that would make it otherwise." I pivoted on one heel.

Trembling with rage, I nursed my temper and silently stepped toward the door, purse secure within my grasp. But his hand was around my wrist, firm but not bruising. "If a harmless doctor like myself can pickpocket you so easily, who's to say that a more skilled thief couldn't?" All the laughter was gone from his voice, leaving it thin and dry. "You can stay here, Amos. My offer still stands. Wouldn't it be nice to live a life free of thievery and constant peril?"

 _Yes_ , my mind screamed. But I couldn't bring myself to say it, to admit that I couldn't survive on my own, that his offer was like a beacon of light amid a moonless night. I was still naïve and foolishly proud.

"You're clever, doctor. But don't think that just because you pulled a fast one on me that I can't handle myself out there. You just caught me on a bad day," I growled.

He kept his grip on my wrist, speaking levelly, "Amos, listen to me, you can't afford to have bad days out there. It's dangerous. You could be hurt or kill—"

"Why do you care?" I gnashed my teeth together indignantly.

He let go of my wrist. His expression unaffected, placid as always, but those grey eyes told a much different story, one that I dully ignored.

"I don't need your help. I've been getting on just fine on my own."

Laughing dryly, he said, "Amos, you've been freezing and starving, which part of that sounds "just fine" to you?"

I had just begun responding with some very colorful language when Eren and Elizabeth reappeared, holding two bags of food in their tiny arms. Shutting my mouth, I stepped toward the door. "It's time for me to go."

Elizabeth skipped forward, her dress swirling around her. She tugged on my sleeve, handing me the bag in her grasp. "I'm coming with you, right?"

Eren narrowed his eyes, setting his bag at my feet. His hands wrapped protectively over her bony shoulders. I raised a brow his way, and he continued to glare with flat, angry eyes. I sighed, knowing that he was right. She couldn't come with me. I was clearly a poverty stricken thief.

He was gallingly observant for a child. He knew that if she went with me, she'd die. And he had no plans on letting that happen, not by the whites of his knuckles, or the taut line of his mouth.

Too tired to argue, I said, "Not yet." I patted her golden head. "But soon, I promise. I'll be back for you."

XXX

I shouldn't have made promises I couldn't keep. I should not have told that girl I would be back for her. I knew what it was to wait beside the window, watching, waiting—hoping—for someone to come back for you.

It's cruel to give hope where none should be. It only turns to disappointment, resentment, rage; all the things that make life more difficult than it already is. And in a life already so dark and terrible, how dare I try to cause her even more.

I could not stop seeing her little blood covered dress, and her wide, innocent eyes. They were so distracting that I nearly missed the shadows following me through the moonless night.

A cloaked figure darted by, flickering strangely in the jumping torchlights of the street. I tugged my own cloak tighter around myself and tried to ignore the mounting panic rising in my throat.

Another figure lurked near the dark mouth of an alleyway. His mask looked like a demon ready to devour my soul; it glowered with haunting, empty eyes. I looked after it numbly, the chill in my gut making a slow knot.

A third figure appeared beside a tavern, still as stone within the small group of drunks swaying in the doorway. My pulse began to hammer at me then, my palms all sudden sweat.

It took all of my limited courage not to speed up.

 _Don't run. Don't panic._

I saw the crimson of his cloak by a finger of dusty red light coming through the window. I caught the glint of starlight on steel.

 _Run_.

At that, whatever sliver of restraint I possessed disappeared. I dropped the sacks of food at my sides and pelted down the ice-slicked cobblestoned street. From that second, that one step forward, the world seemed to blur around me and time slowed down. I heard my breath, saw the plumes of it in front of my face. The buildings blurred or faded into white hulks, the snow dazzled, until all I could see was the glint of the silver and red and black.

My breath was burning in my chest as I looked for somewhere to go, somewhere to hide. But I didn't know this part of the city. I'd taken the long way back to my hideout in hopes to clear my head, or at least tire myself out. I was unfamiliar with the roads and shops and people. There were no piles of trash to worm into, no burned-out buildings to climb through. I felt sharp frozen gravel slice through the thin sole of one of my shoes. Pain tore through my foot as I forced myself to keep running.

I slipped into an alley astride an abandoned store. I found a place near the door with my back to the wall and sank down onto my haunches. It was preternaturally quiet, as suspenseful as a held breath. The silence was eerie and unnerving.

I was out of breath and quite thoroughly lost. I hugged my knees tight against my chest and shivered, whether from the icy wind or the fear souring my gut, I could not say.

My heart was a hammer in my chest. I forced it to slow, deciding it best to wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for me to come creeping back out and find my way home. I hunkered down in the dark against a damp stone wall and tried listening for their pursuit.

There was the dull ringing of boots on stone. I hadn't even made it to one hundred yet.

"Well, well," a bodiless voice hissed. "If it isn't the little peasant boy? Come to spoil more of our fun?"

The emptiness of the cold night sky, speckled with cold uncaring stars, did little to light the alleyway. But I could just make out the outline of five shadows closing in around me.

I realized then how small I was, how powerless.

Another, deeper voice said, "This time, _you_ will be our fun. This time you'll be playing our game, by our rules."

I heard the soft slither of steel against leather.

"Please—," I choked, but no one was listening to me.

"Oh, come now. Don't start begging now. We haven't even begun the game." I heard the smile in his voice, and knew that it was wicked and cruel and full of terrible malice.

Suddenly, a group of people poured by, shouting and laughing. I could have screamed, pleaded for help, but I knew better. After all of my time on the streets, I was acutely aware of all of the good screaming did you. It was good for a sore throat and pitied stares, but that was it.

So I took advantage of this momentary distraction and twisted away from them. But I wasn't quite quick enough. One of their knives tore a bright line of pain across my ribs as I pulled away and began pelting down the alley. But my flight was short-lived. The alley dead-ended against a sheer brick wall. There were no doors, no windows, nothing to hide behind or use to get a leg up on the wall. I was trapped. I turned to see the shadows blocking the mouth of the alley.

I palmed the makeshift shank in my trousers. I wouldn't die here without a fight, no matter how futile.

They were upon me in the space of ten hard heartbeats. Fists and blades came at me from all directions and it was impossible to fight them all off.

It wasn't long before I collapsed. One of my eyes was swelled shut and I could taste blood. I tried to ignore the burning sensations upon my flesh where I knew I was gaping open, dripping red over the white snow beneath me.

I was going to die. I could feel its seductive warmth wrapping around me as they kicked and punched and cut me. I didn't care anymore. I wanted it to embrace me, to end me. I watched its leathery, flaming wings coming toward me, felt its kiss upon my cheek, like a promise.

I smiled. I was ready.

But then it disappeared, flapping its black wings, leaving me cold and trembling.

"Get up. We aren't finished with you." Another round of kicks met my side, and I rolled into something solid. A wall.

"No," I said muzzily as I felt for the cool wall with my free hand. "No."

My answer seemed to infuriate them. "No?" a voice bit off the word.

"No," I said fiercely.

I clenched my fist around the knife in my grasp and swung wildly at the one closest to me. He crumpled in a heap next to me, clutching his leg and moaning, "He cut me! The bastard sliced my leg."

I was alive. I was enraged.

Another figure lunged forward and stabbed me once in the thigh right above my knee before I knocked him over and smashed his hand into the cobblestones, the blade spinning away. After that he still gave me a black eye and several broken ribs before I managed to kick him squarely between the legs and get free.

"Stop him!"

Arms reached for me, but I leaned to my left, letting his finger brush my arm, spinning around him. By the time he got himself turned, I was sprinting down the alley. I slid between another's legs, bounded to my feet, bowled into the fifth shadow looming at the edge of the alley and hopped over him. I was past them all, running full out.

I ran like a frightened deer. I'm not certain how long I made it before the darkness and my dazzled vision betrayed me and I ran headlong into something warm and solid, crumpling to the ground in a painful heap. Bruised, bleeding, and half-blind, I lay there. Only then did I realize I wasn't being chased at all.

"Amos?" Dr. Yeager seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. Or perhaps he'd been what I'd run into? I wasn't sure anymore.

"Dr…Yeager?" I managed to croak. I tasted blood when I spoke.

He was at my side in two strides. "What happened to you?" he asked, squatting beside me, holding his torch close as his cape swirled behind him on the winter wind.

"Run," I groaned. "Run, now. Before they—"

I heard shouts, then pounding footsteps. They were there. It was too late. I struggled to get to my feet, wincing.

"There you are," one of the masks said. "Thought you could sneak away, huh? Who's your friend here? Does he want to play too?"

I rasped, "Leave him out of this. It's me you—"

"Aria," Dr. Yeager said gravely. "Go. Now."

I was so startled by the profound change in his voice that I missed my name cross his lips. A name I'd yet to disclose to anyone behind these godforsaken walls. I was too busy watching fury lighting his eyes afire, and his lips pulling away from unnaturally long canines.

"I—I can't just—you—," I stammered, unable to move. I could feel the anger radiating off of him. It was like standing near a fire.

He snarled, the sound more animal than man. "Just stay back, Aria."

Brimming full of rage and anger themselves, one of the red cloaks spat, "Enough talk. Let's—"

His masked head rolled over the cobblestones with a sickening _thump_. His blood sprayed the snow in a wide arc, dappling Dr. Yeager's face like war paint. Dr. Yeager's blade glowed dimly in the torchlight, soaked with fresh blood. There was no time for an outcry as he was upon the rest of the masked figures in the space of one breath.

Four blades darted out for him all at once, and I gasped. But Dr. Yeager was unhurt, unmoved and unimpressed. "Is that all you have?"

One red cloak went careening past me, stumbling; another struck the ground with a jarring impact and rolled to the side, stunned. His legs tangled under him. Dr. Yeager dealt with them unsmiling. Their blood soaked the frozen cobblestones.

"You bastard!" one screamed.

Dr. Yeager's sword caught him full in the face with a sickening crunch and a spray of bright blood. The last he stalked down like a wolf does a hare. The doctor killed him viciously even as he begged and thrashed and screamed.

Then the fury went out of Dr. Yeager's eyes, and his sword arm dropped.

We stood there a long time, staring at the corpses littering the snow, until finally he turned toward me, his expression carefully arranged into his usual placid mask. "Are you all right, Amos?"

"I—" My head was spinning. The ground came rushing up to meet me.

Everything went black.


	5. Chapter Five: Control

**Disclaimer: No, I still do not own Attack on Titan, and I don't think I ever will. (lol)**

 **Warning: Canon divergence. Mature language and content.**

 **Author's Note: Hey guys! Thank you to all of you who are reading and following this story. I cannot express enough gratitude for each one of you. I sincerely hope that you are enjoying it so far, and if you aren't and you think you have some suggestions to make it better, please let me know!**

 **Also, I feel that I should mention that this story will unfortunately not contain certain beloved characters (Examples: Mikasa and Armin) because I simply do not have room for them. I cherish them all, but for this plot, I cannot use them and do them any sort of justice. Apologies to those of you who have been waiting for them to make an appearance. Anyway, I just figured I'd mention that.**

 **Shout Outs: Okay, so thank you to the Guest who left my 2nd review! Woot, woot! You are too sweet. But I am the one who should be thanking you for taking time to read my story! :D Also, a big and warm thanks to ElijahJessGodric (awesome penname, btw) for following AND favoriting this story. I greatly appreciate. And, as always, thank you to my lovely beta, winged gorgonzola. You're amazing, my dear.**

 **Well, without further ado, on to the next chapter. Happy reading! :)**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Five: Control**

I opened my eyes to a confusing mass of dark shapes and firelight.

My skull throbbed. I moved one hand to feel the back of my head gingerly, then looked at my fingers, surprised that they weren't covered in blood.

 _Where…?_

I felt soft sheets and a down mattress beneath me, smelled the antiseptic tang in the air. I was at the clinic, of course. I'd been attacked. I almost died.

 _So stupid,_ I chided myself.

But I was quickly distracted by the ache radiating through my entire body. There were several lines of bright, clear pain crossing the backs of my arms, legs and chest. A dull ache pulled at my left side every time I drew in a breath. But I was alive.

 _Dr. Yeager…he—_

"He's awake! He's awake! He's awake!" A pair of familiar diamond-blue eyes looked up at me from beside the bed, gleaming brightly in the dim light.

I swallowed dryly a few times before finally managing to croak, "Elizabeth? Where is the doctor?"

"Ah, so it's true then," his familiar voice resounded from somewhere across the room, "you _are_ awake."

He came closer, wiping his hands over his shirt; still he was little more than a dark shape as he paused beside what appeared to be a table and stool.

"We were worried that you would sleep forever," Elizabeth said, a single line of concern creasing her brow.

It seemed to take far too much effort to make a single word. I moved my head a bit and felt suddenly dizzy and nauseous. I winced and realized I probably was suffering a concussion. _Great_.

I laughed, short and bitter, mumbling, "I wish I could have."

Her eyes narrowed, and she gave a tiny frown, fierce with disapproval. "But then I'd never see you again, and you promised that you'd come back to me, remember?"

I hesitated, then nodded. The dizziness returned quickly and sharply, and it was an effort to keep from leaning over the bed to vomit. "You're right. I'm sorry, M'lady."

"M'lady?" Elizabeth put her hand across her mouth, but a muffled giggle still escaped.

I felt an irrepressible grin bubble onto my face. "What? Is that not how you address a princess anymore?"

"A princess?" She held both her hands close to her chest, grinning. She moved from foot to foot, almost dancing with her eagerness. "I am! I am a little princess!"

A genuine laugh escaped my throat. I realized that it had been a long time since I'd last laughed without anger or bitterness. It felt good. "Indeed you are, little one. Now," I said, shooing her with one hand, "it's time for me and Dr. Yeager to talk."

Her smile crumpled into a frown, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. "But—"

"We will only be a moment," Dr. Yeager intervened gently, "Besides, don't you want to give Amos the gift you made for him?"

Her doe-eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. And then she was a shadow flitting away, her hair streaming out behind her like a banner.

"She dotes on you," he said as we both watched her disappear behind a door across the room.

I sighed, pressing my face into my hands. "I don't understand it. I mean, I'm not exactly a people person. And I've never done well with the little ones."

He huffed a laugh over the sound of running water sloshing in a bowl somewhere to my left. I glared at the smudge of shadow I assumed was him, and said, "I'm glad you find my dilemma with this child amusing."

"Don't be so dramatic, Amos. I'd hardly call it a dilemma," he said over the trickle of water.

"Dramatic?" I cried indignantly. "This little girl's happiness—her very _life_ —is dependent on me! An unobservant, near-dead thief."

The water stopped abruptly. "Again with the melodrama," he said. "I'd say you're only a quarter-dead at this point, little thief."

He was mocking me, I knew, but I couldn't stop the prickle-heat that suddenly swept over my skin. I was thankful for the darkness covering the heat in my cheeks that surged faster than any flame. "If I'd had a better doctor maybe I'd be nowhere near death's door."

I could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, "And if you'd taken my offer to begin with then you wouldn't have needed a doctor at all, alas—"

"Okay, okay," I said, clutching the blanket. "Enough."

There was a brief pause, and then the ring of footsteps on stone as he came forward with the water basin, setting it on the table beside me. "You know, I believe you're the only person she trusts right now. When you're away she's…different."

"Of course she is," I snapped. "Can you blame her? After what they—" I choked on the words, swallowing them bitterly.

I recalled the men pawing her in the alleyway, the crimson covering her white nightgown. Without meaning to, I felt my fists clench tightly on either side of me. I was glad they were all dead. They deserved it. Anyone that did that to a little girl—to any girl—deserved a fate worse than death.

 _Don't scream, Aria. It's just me. I love you, remember?_

I gritted my teeth against the memory, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. But then Dr. Yeager was speaking again, "I don't think you fully grasp what you did for her. Most people would have walked away, but you—"

"I was too late," I said hollowly.

"No," he said firmly, and I could just see the glint of his grey eyes. "You saved her life. That—"

"Let's just drop it, okay? I—," I started, but my voice failed me.

Dr. Yeager strode forward, sparing me from focusing anymore on memories better left on a dusty shelf, as he gave me a measuring look. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"I think I'm fine," I said as I cautiously levered myself up onto one elbow and from there into a sitting position. "All thanks to you." There was an odd catch in my voice, and I hated the soft trembling I heard within it, but I pressed on anyway, "Dr. Yeager, I don't know how to thank—"

He put a hand under my chin and forced my face up, his eyes looked deep into me, as if I were a book that he could read. "There is nothing to thank me for, Amos."

I looked away then, suddenly self-conscious. "There's a lot to thank you for, actually."

"You have a couple of broken ribs and a concussion, which I am sure you can attest to," he said, ignoring my attempt to thank him, again. He let his hand drop to his side. "Other than that you have some scrapes and bruises." He shrugged. "I've already stitched up the cuts on your arms, legs and chest. They should heal up nicely."

"Thank—"

He began to work my tunic over my head. I stuttered a confused protest, but he just waved me off. "Please, it isn't like I'm not accustomed to the female anatomy." Then, with a playful smirk, "However, I must say that I have very little experience with one pretending desperately to be a boy."

I glowered, but kept stonily silent, lifting my arms overhead in resignation. He was right, of course, and it wasn't like he didn't already know I was a girl. I'd never been particularly wary about nudity itself anyway, just the things that often accompanied it. I pushed that thought aside.

"Sorry," he said absently as he slowly inched the fabric over me, "this is going to sting, but I need to reclean your wounds, and you are in dire need of a bath. You smell worse than the mangy dog Eren tried bringing home yesterday. And you probably have just as many fleas."

He wasn't wrong. I smelled so badly, I was repulsing myself. Still, I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Well, I'm sorry that I haven't had the time to clean my—ahh!" I grimaced and sucked my breath through my teeth as the dried blood stuck and tugged against the wounds. "Goddammit."

He awarded me a stern look over his spectacles, but withheld any comment on my foul language. "There. Now, let's clean you up."

Dipping a clean wash cloth into the basin upon the bedside table, he began rinsing me off. Pain jabbed at me each time he went over a bruise, but my body was too tired to flinch away. As the dried blood was washed away a wild scoring of long, straight cuts became clear. They glared redly against my fair skin, as if I had been slashed with a barber's razor or a piece of broken glass. Or five blades, to be exact. There were perhaps a dozen cuts in all, most of them on the tops of my shoulders, a few across my back and along my arms and chest. One started on the top of my head and ran down my scalp to behind my ear. None were deep enough to warrant stitches, although I spotted quite a few rows of those too.

I felt each wound tenderly with my fingers. In all, I had twelve scores of stitches, twenty bruises, two broken ribs, one black eye and a concussion. Also, there was my stinging, profound sense of guilt, embarrassment and shame, all of which could not be mended by the power of medicine.

I'd turned down his generosity, and spat in his face. I'd tried to steal from him. And still he saved me.

I couldn't stop seeing the corpses laying around him on the cobblestones. I couldn't stop wondering how he'd managed to get away without a scratch. I couldn't stop wondering why he'd been there in the first place.

I swallowed the mouthful of questions. I knew from experience that too many questions were often dangerous. I'd have to figure out how to ask them discreetly and sporadically.

 _He slaughtered all of them,_ I thought awe-struck at the memory. _He_ _cut them down as easily as stalks of wheat. Just who is this man, really?_

I watched him from the corner of my eye as he sat back, wringing the soaked cloth into the basin. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be nothing more than a concerned doctor; complete with spectacles and an unassuming, innocent smile.

But a skilled observer might notice his arms weren't the doughy arms of a doctor. When he wrung the towel, the muscles of his forearms stood out, tight as twisted ropes. Old scars crossed and recrossed his skin. Most were pale and thin as cracks in winter ice. Others were red and angry, like tendrils of flame. And his hands were not that of a mere surgeon either. They were deft, sure, but they were not thin and graceful hands. His were broad knots of scar and knuckles, forged by years of combat.

 _He's a warrior. He could help me become stronger. He could help me kill that bastard._

Without looking up, he asked, "Is there something on your mind, Amos?"

I sat dumbfounded. What could I say? _Your apparent alter ego. Are you a storybook hero?_ No, too childish. _I want revenge against the Ackermans._ Too dramatic. _To become so powerful that no one will ever be able to hurt me or those I love again._ Too frightening.

I swallowed against the dryness in my mouth and settled for the thing that weighed most heavily at that moment. An apology.

"I...," my voice snagged in my throat. I swallowed to clear it. "I wanted to say that I was sorry for...," I stalled at the thought of mentioning trying to rob him. "...for what I did before." I finished lamely.

"What?" He cocked his chin, looking oddly youthful. Then realization dawned upon him and he hung the towel over the edge of the basin. "I forgive you," he said, a dangerous glint in his grey eyes. "But you could always make up for your bad behavior by accepting a request."

"And what would that be?" I arched a brow at him.

His smile was full of secrets, as he said, "I'd like for you, Amos Fisher, to become my apprentice here at the clinic."

"Your apprentice?" I said, not bothering to hide my surprise.

He nodded with dogged persistence. I gave a sigh that hovered between annoyance and resignation.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," he said, his eyes gleaming mysteriously behind his spectacles, "you remind me of someone. A boy that I took under my wing once."

I waited for an elaboration, but when nothing was forthcoming, I chewed over the request silently, the fire crackling happily in the hearth the only thing punctuating the silence. By the time I arrived at an answer, the fire flickered and died, leaving me in total darkness. It made it easier to speak, not being able to see that secretive smile and mysterious gleam in his grey eyes.

"Fine," I breathed. "I'll do it. I'll be your apprentice, Dr. Yeager."

"Please," he said. "Call me Grisha."

XXX

Grisha wasn't the first doctor I'd ever met, but he was by far the most intriguing.

He was knowledgeable in all the sciences: botany, astronomy, psychology, anatomy, alchemy, geology, and chemistry. But he didn't limit himself to _only_ the sciences, Grisha was a near-genius in numerous subjects: literature, language (he spoke nine fluently), history, arithmetic, art, music, dancing. And combat, apparently.

 _That_ was something he had yet to discuss with me at all, in fact, if I didn't know better I might have thought he was tiptoeing past it on purpose. In any case, it was unfair, really, that someone should be so gifted and well-versed in so many topics. And while his main love was for biology, he believed in a rounded education. So, I learned how to work the sextant, the compass, the slipstick, the abacus. More important, I learned to do without.

Within a month I could identify any chemical he pointed to on the chart hanging in his office. In two months I could distill liquor until it was too strong to drink, bandage a wound, set a bone, and diagnose hundreds of sicknesses from symptoms. I knew the process for making four different aphrodisiacs, three concoctions for contraception, and nine for impotence.

I learned the formulae for a dozen poisons and acids and a hundred medicines and cure-alls, some of which even worked. I was, to put it plainly, quite smug with my progress; however, the doctor was not. He had yet to let me near a patient, and patience was not my strongest virtue. And today was wearing that near-nonexistent part of me particularly thin.

We were sitting at the cluttered table in his office, as I looked around with a vast boredom at the walls covered with bundles of dry herbs and shelves lined with small, carefully labeled bottles. There was a small desk with three heavy leather books on it that he often used early in the morning, or late at night, while I slept on the small cot tucked away in the corner by the window. One of the books lay open, and I recognized it by the strange characters inside as the Ancient Chinese Herblore we'd studied last week. I could see handwritten notes scrawled in the margins, while some of the entries had been edited or crossed out entirely.

"Amos," Dr. Yeager said sternly, snapping my attention back to him. "Are you listening?"

"So, oxidation-reduction is responsible for fires? Well, la-dee-da," I said sarcastically, watching the piece of sky outside the window slowly fade to black, my chin resting in one upturned palm.

We'd been at this for over four hours and I was feeling particularly antsy since my wounds had finally healed enough for me to do more than lie in bed and groan in pain anytime I so much as twitched a finger. I needed to move, to stretch, to run.

He scowled at me and smacked my cheek to bring my attention back to the slate we were taking notes on. "That isn't the only thing it's responsible for. It also spoils food, and ages humans, as well as brings on conditions like the hardening of arteries and arthritis," he said, scribbling something over the slate. "It appears that oxygen molecules and other oxidizing agents extract these from the membranes in human cells. Over time, this can cause a gradual breakdown in the body's immune system, which inevitably leads to death."

 _Or we die at the hands of others._ I wondered idly which was worse, but found that I didn't care to dwell on such a dreary topic.

Rolling my eyes, I said irreverently, "We all die someday, so what?"

Something in my voice gave him pause. "You're too young a person to have such thoughts."

"And you are too wise a person to think that the young don't perish just as easily as the old," I said, looking at the formulae on his slate.

I looked over at Grisha and saw him watching me, his eyes danced. "You're sounding less like a doctor and more like a soldier, little thief."

"Good! At least one of us is being honest about who we really are," I snapped. "And quit calling me that! My thievery days are long gone."

"Oh?" He threw a velvety red purse onto the table between us. "And what is this? Did you come into your dowry recently, _my lady_?"

Flushing, I looked away. I'd stolen the purse of a florid gentleman that had come by with his fever-ridden son. Not my proudest moment, but again, old habits die slow deaths.

I tried to turn his thoughts in a different direction. I set my chin willfully. "When are you going to drop this holier-than-thou doctor façade?"

The doctor's eyes had taken on a curious look by this point but he pushed it aside as he said, "What makes you think that I am putting on a facade?"

"You butchered those men like they were cattle."

I gave him a pointed look, watching for any of the six signs Blaise had taught me to watch for when a man was lying, but there were none. That did not sit well with me. I knew he was hiding his true-self behind that damned impassive mask of his, I just knew it.

He settled himself back into his chair and folded his hands in front of himself. His expression passive and unreadable. "It's true, I do have some skill with a blade. But that does not alter the man you see before you. I am still a doctor, first and foremost, and saving lives—not killing them—is my priority."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Were you a soldier?"

He swallowed once. I watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He was uncomfortable. "Yes. At one time, I did hold that title. But that was another life," he gave a brief but significant pause, leading me to believe that it had not been quite as simple as that, "one that I willingly left behind."

For a moment, fierce longing and regret warred across his face, but it faded quick as blinking, as he said, "Have I satiated your curiosity about me for today? Can we resume our lesson now?"

"Does it get easier?" I asked softly, without thinking.

"What?"

"Killing."

There was a breath of silence. He gave me a level look, his face as calm as always. "Yes. It shouldn't, but it does."

I thought about the people I'd killed. Their faces used to haunt my sleep, but now I dreamt only of killing more, of going back and killing every one of those red-cloaked bastards. They were pleasant dreams and did not stir me awake, sobbing or screaming like they had in the beginning.

"I'm glad you killed them," I said hotly. "I wish that I could have. They deserved it for what they did to Elizabeth."

"No," he said, emotion touching the edges of his voice like a hint of red sunset against slate-grey clouds. "We must never take pleasure in killing, Amos. When we do it makes us just as evil as those we wish ill upon. It turns us into murderous beasts. And in a world already so full of death and despair, would you really wish more upon it?"

Later, I'd come to fully appreciate the doctor's wisdom, but at that moment I was furious at what those bastards had done to Elizabeth, to me. I was sullen and hurt and naive, and the only thing that kept me going was pure black temper.

"I would wish it upon my enemies; the ones who truly deserve it," I snarled. My eyes felt like smoldering coals in my skull, burning with angry tears, and words came pouring out of me like a river. "There is a man that I must kill for what he's done to someone I loved." Then, meeting his cool gaze, I added fervently, "You could help me do it. Teach me how to fight like you."

Silence flooded the room, thick and bitter as a lungful of smoke.

"What makes you think I'm not teaching you?" he asked, puzzled. "Aside from the fact that you refuse to learn."

"Stop wasting my time with this bullshit! You're trying to teach me how to play kindly, concerned doctor, but I'm never going to be that, dammit!" I vaguely realized I was shaking, standing over the table with furled fists. My family's dead eyes stared up at me from the wood. I screamed, "I am meant to _take_ lives, not _save_ them!"

Silence. Complete, uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Yeager drew a slow breath, the only motion in the room. His eyes rested on his fingers over the table. "I'm sorry," he said without looking up. "I fear you are still too lost, little thief. You are still not ready."

"Yes, I am! Do something, damn you!" I choked out. "Teach me!" I hadn't really been shouting, but I ended up breathless all the same. My temper faded as quickly as it had flared up, and I worried I'd gone too far.

He pushed away from the table and strode calmly to the door. "Our lesson is over for today."

I was left alone with my confusion, chagrin and dwindling patience.

XXX

I'd been confined to the office until further notice, and that was two days ago. An hour into the first day I was prowling around like a cat in a crate. My lessons had ground to a standstill. The doctor was punishing me for my continued thievery. All my meals were brought to me by Elizabeth, who made my time here only slightly bearable, and Eren, who made my time stuck in the office insufferable.

"Fuck it," I spat.

 _I can't stay here anymore. I'll just go back to my hideout. I'll figure out my own way to kill_ _ **him.**_

The door and window may have been bolted and locked from the outside, but windows were easy to break. I picked up one of the matching wooden chairs scattered around the table. _This should do._

But just as I began spinning in a circle, ready to release it at the window, the door came banging open with a sound like gunfire. It was Eren and Elizabeth.

"Amos!" They screamed in unison.

The chair fell to the floor with a dull clang. "What is it?"

Eren's eyes were glistening, his bottom lips wobbled. "It's father."

Elizabeth simply stood. Her face was stricken and bloodless as if she had been stabbed. Their fingers were covered in blood.

The fear this knotted in my gut should have made me tuck tail and run; it should have warned me of the roots I was slowly putting down in this place, but instead, it had me saying, "Lead me to him."

XXX

Their swords stuck out like tails behind them. I recognized the symbol on the uniforms they wore: a flashy, white unicorn in front of a shield. Military police. Two of them: one tall and proud, one short and blond.

"You three," a voice croaked. "Stay back."

Dr. Yeager was curled on the floor; blood was running down the side of his face. There were shards of broken glass lying around him, and the aroma of alcohol and ammonia filled the air.

 _Bastards._

The soldiers turned their faces toward us, blades sharp and dangerous, but they deemed us as nonthreatening in the space of a breath. My fists were shaking at my sides.

The blond soldier walked over, rubbing at the side of his face. "Had to get all clever, didn't you?" he said, spitting on the floor. He drew back his boot and landed a hard kick against Dr. Yeager's side. Grisha drew a sharp, hissing breath, but made no other sound. "Say you're sorry, doctor."

"I'm…sorry. I shouldn't have fought against the King's…wishes," he wheezed. "Just…just take the money."

The blond soldier walked over toward the fallen purse, swaggering just a bit. He took hold of the it and hefted it appreciatively. He turned to smile at his friend. "You see, I told—"

I was on him, swinging my fists in wild arcs through the air. It took him by surprise and he staggered back, covering his face with crossed arms. "Hey! Stop it, boy!"

The second soldier stepped close and drove a fist hard into my gut from the left. I'd forgotten all about him in my fit of rage _. So careless._

I let out a pained huff of air, and as I started to double over the tall soldier swung his other fist into the side of my face, snapping my head to the side and sending me reeling.

I only managed to keep my feet by grabbing the nearby table for support. Blinking, I threw another wild punch to keep him at a distance. But the solider merely brushed it aside and caught hold of my wrist in one huge hand, easy as a father might grab hold of an unruly child in the street.

Dazed, I struggled to free my wrist. I wriggled desperately, trying to pull away. But with my eyes half-focused and dull with confusion, I merely scrabbled uselessly at the soldier's scarred fist.

"Stop it! You leave Amos alone!" Elizabeth screamed, thrashing hard against Eren's arms keeping her in place.

The proud soldier paid her no mind, just eyed me with amused curiosity, then reached out and slapped me hard on the side of the head. "You're almost a bit of a scrapper, boy," he said. "You actually stuck one on Milo."

Behind him, the blond soldier was seething. "Little bastard sucker-punched me."

The tall soldier snickered contemptuously, his grey-green eyes cruel, "Maybe you should spend more time training and less time in the damn tavern then. You're going soft if this little runt can get one over on you."

Milo frowned. "He surprised me, that's all!"

"Maybe if you hadn't been drinking at eight this morning you—"

"Shut up, Liam! What I do in my free-time is no concern of yours."

Liam's grip remained firm around my wrist. _Now's my chance._ I stomped down hard with the heel of my foot, aiming at his boot. At the same time, I snapped my forehead up at his nose.

But he merely laughed, moving his head to the side as he jerked me off balance by my wrist. "None of that," he chided, backhanding me across the face.

I yelped and lifted a hand to my bleeding nose. Liam grinned and casually drove a knee hard into my groin. Luckily, I wasn't a man, but it was still painful.

I doubled over, first gasping soundlessly, then making a series of choked retching noises, which were forced and necessary to keep up my façade as a boy. Even in a fight, I had to remember who I was.

"That's enough," Grisha said, standing with his palm pressed to the side of his face. Blood oozed past his fingers. "You've had your fun. Now, leave the boy alone."

Milo smiled wickedly, a malicious glitter in his cold, blue eyes. But Liam backed away a step at the look Dr. Yeager gave him. I caught the hard emotion in his grey eyes: anger. A slow, smoldering anger, like hot coals beneath a thin layer of ash.

Realization came to me like a flower unfurling in my head. He could kill them. He was letting them live.

Liam knew this. He slapped his companion on the chest with the back of his hand. "He's right. Let's get out of here."

"But I was just starting to—" Milo protested, but at one stern glance from Liam, he backed down and clutched Grisha's purse tightly to his chest. "Fine. We'll be back," he spat as they passed us.

The door snicked closed behind them. Silence reined, thick enough to spread on toast and eat.

"Well that was embarrassing," Grisha said. He touched his bloody face and looked at his fingers. He chuckled again, a jagged, joyless sound. "Amos, are you alright?"

I nodded. "Are you?"

He touched his scalp speculatively. "I'll need a stitch or two, I suspect."

"Father!" Eren came rushing forward, letting Elizabeth pelt her way freely toward me. His green eyes were all afire with rage. "Why didn't you fight back? You could have—"

"Because, Eren, it would not have been prudent," Grisha said calmly.

"But, father, you are stronger than them! You should have—"

"Eren," Grisha snapped, glaring fearsomely at the boy through his spectacles. "There is more to fighting than strength, you know this."

Eren looked away, shame written plainly across his young face. "I know, but…," he trailed off quietly.

Grisha took his son's shoulders in his hands, gripping them firmly. "There is no weakness in backing down from a fight. A man must think two steps ahead, remember? He must know when to fight and when to concede. He must have control in all situations."

"Yes, father," Eren murmured, his head sunk low.

Dr. Yeager lifted him up by his chin, and said, "We will discuss this more later. Now, go fetch me a glass of water and a wet cloth."

Eren scurried back into the kitchen. There was the sound of frantic rummaging followed by several things falling to the ground. Grisha closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the table.

"Amos," Elizabeth said, tugging on my sleeve, pulling my eyes to her. "What can I do to help make you better, big brother?"

The title struck a chord within me. I'd never had a sibling. She and Eren were the first children I'd ever spent time with, and while they were often thorns in my side, I had developed some sort of attachment to them.

I smiled down at her, the motion painful as it stretched my swollen cheek. "I'd love it if you'd grab me that picture book you made me. It always cheers me up."

A sudden, sunny smile spilled across her face. She laughed, rising onto the balls of her feet, her hands pressed together, close to her chest. "Really?"

I nodded, and her laugh was sweet and loud and long. It gave me more comfort and joy than I cared to admit. Her bare feet slapped noisily against the stone as she faded down the hall to the office, her fine hair following, a comet tail.

"You shouldn't have fought those men, Amos."

Pivoting on my heel, I turned toward Dr. Yeager. "And what should I have done? Just watched silently as they beat you to a bloody pulp?"

"Yes."

It was such a blunt answer, blowing the wind straight from my sails, that it left my head spinning with confusion. "Wait…what? You can't expect me to just—"

I heard a hard edge creep into his voice, only then did I sense how truly angry he was. "They could tell the King to shut down this clinic, to put me or you in the clink. And then what, Amos?"

Realization started to dawn on me, and I closed my eyes. "Those like me and Elizabeth would have nowhere to go for help. I understand, Grisha. I do. But that doesn't mean I agree with it; I still side with the kid on this one."

He took a deep breath. "Of course you do." Then, with a cryptic smile, "Still, I think that you may be ready now."

"Ready for what?" To say I was a little baffled would be putting it mildly.

"Meet me in the forest behind the clinic at sundown."

Eren and Elizabeth came back in, each bearing tidings, and we fell into a comfortable silence.

XXX

The stars were bright overhead, the full moon nearly blinding. The night wind whispered through the grass with the beginnings of spring. Oaks and birches crowded each other for space. Their trunks made patterns of alternating light and dark beneath the canopy of branches.

I held my lantern closer, looking for any sign of the doctor. Then the trees cleared, revealing a barren stretch of land jutting toward a deep ravine. The roar of a river was barely a whisper, but I knew it lie just ahead.

 _He should be here._

"You're late."

Startled, I nearly dropped my lantern. "Goddamn! A little warning next time, Grisha!" Then with the petulance of a small child, "And you never gave me damn time, so don't pull that shit."

"Language." He gave me a faint smile.

"What?" A smirk wound its way over my face as my heartbeat steadied. "Don't pretend like you don't appreciate a little foul mouthing every once in a while. Even _you_ can't be _that_ big of a stick in the mud."

He looked at me for a long second before he laughed. It was an unrestrained, happy sound that came leaping straight from his chest. I realized I'd never heard his laugh. The ease it put me in unsettled me.

"Perhaps, but let's keep that between us, okay?"

"Fine by me." I shrugged indifferently. "So, what are we doing here, anyway?"

But he was gone.

"Grisha?" I spun around, spotting him near the lip of the ravine. "What are you—"

I watched silently as he moved at the pace of honey spreading over a tabletop through elaborate, elegant movements. They were probably stretches to keep his body limber, but it appeared more like a dance.

I was entranced. After all the power I'd seen him use, I never would have assumed he'd be graceful too. It was usually one or the other, much like Reiner when compared with Blaise or Annie. Reiner was brute strength and powerful punches, while the other two were clever cunning and graceful strides.

And for his age, which I could only guess as forty, he was shockingly resilient. He moved as if he hadn't been beaten only two hours ago. Meanwhile, my back was throbbing and my thoughts were leaden, as if I had a high fever or had taken a hard blow to the back of the head, and I was only half his age.

"Now," he said over his shoulder, "we may begin."

"What was that?" I asked dumb-struck.

"It is called a vinyasa, and it's a part of a practice known as Yoga." He motioned me forward. "And it is something I will teach you. But first…," he trailed off meaningfully.

And then he was striking at me with the flat of his hands. It wasn't a slapping motion exactly; it was shove, like how you might push open a door. Only, instead of pushing open a door, he was pushing me, throwing me off balance.

I swiped at his hands, but he just kept coming. Nothing I tried had any effect on him. I threw a punch, but he simply stepped away, not even bothering to counter. Once or twice I felt the brush of cloth against my hands as I came close enough to touch his shirt, but that was all. It was like trying to strike a piece of hanging string.

Then he began using two fingers, pressing them into me like a pinprick. It stung, and it left those places strangely numb. He touched me below my ribs then on my temple, firmly. I felt myself slowing down, as if my energy was dwindling, as if my body was going slowly limp.

Hoping to catch him by surprise, I moved as fast as I dared, lashing out at him wildly. I roared angrily when none of my punches and kicks landed.

He moved like nothing I had ever seen. It wasn't that he was fast, though he was fast, but that was not the heart of it. Grisha moved perfectly, never taking two steps when one would do. Never moving four inches when he only needed three. He moved like something out of a story, more fluid and graceful than a ballerina, more quick and deadly than a viper.

 _What is he? What is_ _ **this**_ _?_

In that moment, he pushed me away. I flew six feet and hit the ground. But I was up quickly with no harm done. It was a gentle throw on soft turf, and Blaise had taught me how to fall without hurting myself. But before I could advance again Grisha stopped me with a gesture.

"You are too brash," he said simply. "You move like a wild wind that lacks any direction. You must learn to focus all of that power."

I felt a smile tug the corners of my lips, elation filling my chest like a giddy child. "And you're going to teach me?"

He nodded.

My grin broadened, and I said, "Well, what're we waiting for? Toss me a sword, let's get to the fun stuff already! This hand to hand stuff is for amateurs."

"Your hand fighting is sloppy." He began his incessant pushing motions again.

"But my sword fighting is what I want to work on," I growled as I evaded, looking for an opening.

"It is worse," he acknowledged. "Like I said, you are too wild. You could hurt someone."

I smiled wickedly. "I thought that was the point of this. I mean, what's the point of fighting otherwise?"

Grisha frowned, then reached out casually to grip my wrist and shoulder, twisting it until it was behind me. His right hand held my wrist over my head, stretching my arm at an awkward angle, while his left pressed firmly against my shoulder. Helpless, I was forced to bend at the waist, staring at the ground.

I tried to yank away from him. He twisted my arm more, and the pressure against my shoulder increased. The small bones of my wrist began to ache.

"Enough," I said. But still he held me, twisting a little harder at my wrist.

"Grisha?" I tried to turn my head to look at him, but from this angle all I could see was his leg.

"If the point of this is to hurt someone," he said, "why should I let you go?"

"That's not what I meant..." He pushed down harder, and I stopped talking.

"What is the purpose of this maneuver?" he asked calmly.

"To incapacitate your opponent," I said.

"Very well." Grisha began to bear down with the slow, relentless force of a glacier. Dull pain began to build in my shoulder as well as my wrist. "Soon your arm will be twisted from the cup of your shoulder. Your tendons will stretch and pull free of the bone. Your muscles will tear and your arm will hang like a wet rag at your side. Then will this have served its purpose?"

I struggled a bit out of pure animal instinct. But it only turned the burning pain into something sharper, and I stopped. Over the course of my training in Wall Iris with Blaise, I had been put into inescapable positions before. Every time I had been helpless, but this was the first time I had truly felt that way.

"The purpose of this—of fighting in general—is control," Grisha said calmly. "Right now, you are mine to do with as I wish. I can move you, or break you, or let you free."

"I would prefer free," I said, trying to sound more hopeful than desperate.

There was a pause. Then he asked, calmly, "What is the purpose of this maneuver?"

"Control." I felt him release me, and I stood, slowly rolling my shoulder to ease the ache.

He stood there, frowning at me. "The point of all of this is control. First you must have control of yourself. Then you can gain control of your surroundings. Then you gain control of whoever stands against you. This is what I am trying to teach you."

XXX


	6. Chapter Six: The Beginnings of Change

**Disclaimer: I do not own Attack on Titan.**

 **Warning: Canon divergence. Mature language and content.**

 **Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you all are doing well, and that you're enjoying the story so far. Please favorite, follow and review if you do! Thank you to all of you for reading. And, as always, thank you to my beta, winged gorgonzola.**

 **Shout Out: Thank you lilnightmare17! I appreciate that you have kept up with this story and its different phases, lol. I'm glad you thought chapter five was awesome, and that you were looking forward to this one! :)**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Six: The Beginnings of Change**

For a month and a half my life became nothing but training. I suppose there was some truth to that expression "careful what you wish for," after all.

The first day was fun, if fun to you is being bone-weary and mentally-drained.

The pace Dr. Yeager set was grueling. First the two of us moved through the vinyasa I had watched him perform before. Then we ran for half an hour. Then we sparred, which is just a fancy way of saying I got my ass handed to me. Then we walked a mile.

Then we would begin the cycle again. Run half an hour, ass-kicking, walk a mile, and finally, a scientific discussion. It took about an hour, and after our brief lesson was finished, we began again.

Run. Spar. Walk. Discuss. We completed the cycle three times before our midday break. Three hours. I was covered in sweat and half-convinced I would die. After a few hours to rest and eat and check on his patients, we were off again. We finished another cycle before we stopped for the night.

In the middle of the night, Grisha shook me awake. Though some deep animal part of me hated him, I knew it was necessary as soon as I stirred. My body was stiff and aching, but the slow, familiar movements of the vinyasa helped loosen my tight muscles. He made me stretch and drink water, then I slept like a stone for the remainder of the night.

The second day was worse. My muscles were rubbery and disloyal, and when we ran my breath burned in my throat.

The moments when Grisha and I spoke of science, specifically medicine, were the only real rest, but they were disappointingly brief. My mind spun with exhaustion, and it took all my concentration to pull my thoughts into order, trying to give proper answers. Even so, my responses only irritated him. Time after time he shook his head, explaining how I was wrong.

Eventually I gave up trying to be right. Too weary to care, I quit pulling my exhausted thoughts into order, and simply enjoyed sitting down for a few minutes. I was too weary to remember what I said half the time, but, surprisingly, I was often correct, or close enough to it that Dr. Yeager didn't look like he wanted to throw me into the river, which would have been a pleasant exercise too.

Perhaps I had been sabotaging myself all along? I had the unfortunate habit of second-guessing myself and assuming I was always wrong.

At any rate, it was a blessing, this newfound peace of mind. When my answers pleased Dr. Yeager, our discussions lasted longer, and I could spend more time resting.

I felt considerably better the third day. My muscles no longer ached as badly. My breath came easier. My head felt clear and light, like a leaf floating on the wind. In this frame of mind, answers to Grisha's questions tripped easily off the tip of my tongue, simple as breathing.

Run. Spar. Walk. Discuss. Three cycles. Then, as we sparred after our midday break, I collapsed.

Dr. Yeager had been watching closely and caught me before I hit the ground. My world spun dizzily for a few minutes before I realized I was in the shade of a tree. He must have carried me there.

Grisha held out my waterskin. "Drink."

The thought of water was not appealing, but I took a mouthful anyway. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You came far before falling. You did not complain." He smirked at that, and I did my best to scowl, but I was still dizzy and it was hard to focus on anything. "You showed your mind is stronger than your body. That is good. You're learning to control this." He jabbed a finger against my head and chest. My heart was still hammering away. "But know your limits, Amos. It is better to stop when you must than run until you fall."

I sighed, but nodded in concession. Then, as I stood, I felt as if I had no control over my legs, like a newborn fawn. I collapsed back into the soft grass.

"Drink again," Grisha said, and though his face and voice were carefully controlled, I could tell he was concerned.

"I'm fine," I said.

But he continued to thrust the waterskin at me. I took another sip to pacify him. Then, as if my body suddenly realized it needed the water, I became very thirsty and took several large swallows. I stopped before I drank too much and cramped my stomach.

The remainder of the day was spent in recovery. We would walk a few miles, perform our vinyasa, discuss medicine and its practice, then walk again. When we retired to the clinic, I ate enough for three men and fell into bed before the sun had left the sky.

But since those first few days, I'd become slowly accustomed to our long days of training. I could run half an hour without collapsing in the grass, panting and cramping and groaning. I could answer all his questions without doubt, and even correctly, most of the time. I could even land a few blows on Grisha, but never one that blocked any of his pressure points, which was a key part of our fighting style. And I had a sneaking suspicion he let me get past his guard anyway, so it seemed to nullify it altogether.

Now, he was beginning to show me how to use a sword. We had been at it for two hours, and Dr. Yeager had done little more than explain the different ways of holding it. As if it were a baby and not a piece of steel.

"That's enough swordplay for today," he said, sheathing the steel in its scabbard.

"But we haven't even used them yet!" I cried indignantly. "Come on, Grisha! Please! Just this once could we—"

Just by the set of his jaw, I knew not to press the issue. "Come, it's time to spar," he said.

He gestured for me to begin our hand fighting, which we had come to call "The Water-bearer" because I could not move my tongue over the strange gibberish it was named. Automatically I fell into the stance he'd taught me: feet shoulder-width apart, legs bent loosely, right hand near the heart, left straight forward with the barest bend in the elbow.

"Stop." I froze in position. This was a new game. He hadn't stopped me since our initial day of training when he'd first taught me the movements of The Water-Bearer. "If I am to attack you, where should it be?" He asked.

Something in his voice told me this was a rhetorical question. He gestured to the trees swaying around us on the spring breeze, the smell of apple blossoms heavy on the air. "Think of yourself as one of these mighty trees, rooted to the earth. But even a tree has weaknesses; even the tallest, strongest tree may fall. The same is true with men. Any man can fall." His eyes held a tinge of sadness, but he pushed past it, as he always did. "Which is why we must know where and when to strike, and in turn, where our own weaknesses lie." His lips thinned, his mustache twitching with the motion. "We must not have any weaknesses that our enemies can exploit. We must learn to disguise them—to _control_ them. Do you understand, Amos?"

I nodded, not moving from my stance. "I must have no weaknesses. I must disguise them. I must stay in control."

It was a familiar mantra, one I found myself murmuring before I fell asleep, before I ate, and when I awoke. It was annoying at first, but now it just seemed as natural as breathing.

He awarded me a small smile, and said, "Good. Now, if I were to attack where should I? Here, at the root?" He pushed my leg and found it unyielding.

"Here at the leaf?" He pushed at my upheld hand, moving it easily, but accomplishing little else.

"Here. The branch." He pushed gently against one of my shoulders, moving me easily. "And here." He added pressure to my hip, spinning me around. "Do you see? You find the place to spend your strength, or it is wasted."

He raised his hands, falling into the position where I had the most difficulty, Water Whip. "Where is my root?" I pointed to his solidly planted feet.

"Where is the leaf?" I pointed to his hands.

"No. From here to here is the leaf." He indicated his whole arm and demonstrated how he could freely strike with his hands, elbows or shoulders.

"Where is the branch?" He looked at me expectantly.

I thought for a long moment, then tapped his knee. Though he gave no sign of it, I sensed his surprise. "And?" I tapped his opposite side under his armpit, then his shoulder.

"Show me," he said.

I came in close to him, set one leg close against his knee, and made Tidal Wave, throwing him to the side. I was surprised at how little force was required.

However, instead of being thrown into the air to tumble to the ground, Grisha gripped my forearm. I felt a jolt run up my arm and was pulled one staggering step to the side. Rather than being thrown Grisha used his grip as leverage so his feet came down beneath him. He took a single perfect step and had his balance again.

He had turned his weakness into a strength _. This man is truly remarkable_ , I thought begrudgingly.

He looked me straight in the eye for a long, speculative moment, then turned to leave, gesturing for me to follow.

"Grisha," I said, trailing along after him, not bothering to keep in time with his long strides. I tried to sound nonchalant as I said, "It would be nice to fight someone whose ability was somewhat closer to my own."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Nice try, Amos. But, no. We've been through this already. You're still too wild. You still lack control. You'll likely hurt someone, and not purposefully."

"I hardly think that's fair," I said, my cheeks warmed by something other than the sun. "I'm not near your level, but you yourself said my Water-Bearing technique is remarkably good."

"I said your Water-Bearing technique was remarkably good considering the amount of time you have been studying," he corrected me. "Which is less than two months. Which is no time at all."

"It's frustrating," I admitted. "If I strike a blow against you, it's because you let me. There is no substance to it. You've given it to me. I haven't earned it for myself."

"Any strike or throw you make against me is earned," he said. "Even if I offer it to you. But I understand. There is something to be said for honest competition."

I started to say something else, but he put his hand over my mouth. "I said I understand. Stop fighting after you've won. Remember your control." Hand still over my mouth, he tapped a finger thoughtfully. "Very well. Continue your progress and I will find you someone at your own level to fight."

XXX

An hour or so later my shoulders ached as I scrubbed myself clean in the small washroom of the clinic. It was just a simple room with a large wooden tub and a grate on the floor. There were pegs along the walls for clothes, and a sheet of tin nailed to the wall that served as a crude mirror.

I set aside the brush with the bucket of steaming water, and the remnants of a cake of lye soap. I'd scrubbed until I was sore and pink and perfectly clean. It had become a routine luxury these last few months, but I still cherished each bath I got after going so long without one.

As I dried myself off, using the rough brush to pull through the snarls in my hair, I hummed softly to myself, watching reflection in the foggy makeshift mirror. I frowned at what I saw there.

My hair had grown long, nearly brushing my shoulders in ebony waves. A ghost of someone I used to know stared back at me through midnight eyes. Her silver crown slipped past her eyes, and over her chin, until it rested around her neck like an iron noose. I shuddered and frantically wiped at the fog along the tin, hoping to scrub her away. But she was still there.

My heart beat hard and quick in my chest. _I could be mistaken for a girl. That simply won't do. No…no, no, no, no, no!_

I picked up the sheers off the metal table beneath the mirror and began snipping away the shaggy strands until my hair fell over the tops of my ears, until I was just a swaggering, insufferable boy. And, finally, the remnants of that broken princess were blessedly gone.

It wasn't perfect, nor stylish, but it would do. I didn't give a single damn about what I looked like, there was no one I cared to impress anyway.

The sound of a distant tinkling startled me. _The doorbell? Who could possibly…?_ I heard Dr. Yeager's boots ringing over the floor as he called, "It's open!"

And then there was a second, unfamiliar voice. Dr. Yeager sounded surprised, but not unpleasantly so. At least I knew it wasn't the Military Police coming to pay us another visit. I relaxed, but only slightly.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I made quick work of drying off before I bundled my chest with bandages, drew on a fresh shirt, and pulled on a pair of trousers. Another luxury I'd grown unaccustomed to: clean, untattered clothing.

I padded down the hallway, into the "sick-room." It was the main room of the clinic: a long stretch of stone and windows, filled with beds covered in clean white sheets that I had laid upon more than once now. It was clean as a crucible, thanks to Elizabeth, Eren, and me.

A table and chairs sat nestled in one corner near the entrance, meant for those fortunate enough to have families perched anxiously by, awaiting their recoveries. However, considering our clientele, the cluster of chairs was hardly ever used for their true purpose. Instead, Elizabeth and Eren often used them for studying or coloring or reading, and occasionally we'd sit for a meal together, like a makeshift family.

Now there were two men sitting there. Dr. Yeager in his spectacles and haphazardly rolled sleeves and surgeons apron. And a second, smaller figure. From behind, I could only make out his inky hair and slumped posture.

Sunlight poured into the room, breaking through fat, puffy clouds and blinding me momentarily. It was a cool, fresh light, fitted for unexpected meetings.

Grisha's smile collapsed into an easy laugh at something his guest said, and as he leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes found mine with some surprise. "Amos?"

I pushed a hand through my soaked hair. "I'm sorry, Dr. Yeager. I wasn't trying to intrude upon your—"

The second figure turned to face me. Shocked, it took me a moment to catch my breath.

He looked out of place without his uniform, but there was no mistaking it. It was him: Levi Ackerman.

His hair was tousled by his journey, and his face seemed too young, almost boyish. He stared at me for a long minute. He met my eyes, and that strangeness I'd felt the first time I'd met him was there. For a heartbeat, it was simply unsettling. Then it almost felt like the light in the room grew dim. His stare was so powerful, so palpable.

The room seemed to hold its breath. But then Dr. Yeager stood and straightened his apron, his chair scraping over the stone floor. It was enough to break the silence into small, sharp slivers; enough to break my eyes free from Levi's, though I was still gawking in his general direction, but now I was focusing on his preposterous cravat and thin fingers, holding a teacup with all the delicacy of goddamned pig—anything but his eyes, really.

I vaguely realized that I was slack jawed, but I couldn't stop it, stupid as it probably made me look. _What is he doing here?_

Grisha followed my gaze, and a grin split his face. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Let me introduce you. Levi," he said with fatherly pride. "this is Amos. Amos, this is Levi."

They knew each other. And well, if the doctor's soft, paternal expression was anything to go off.

I struggled to get my expression back under control, more than slightly embarrassed. I don't usually let my emotions go parading around on my face. But Levi's reaction was minimal, as if he wasn't the least bit surprised that I was standing there; it wasn't until later that I found getting any reaction from him was about as likely as seeing a stone pillar wink.

 _Perhaps he doesn't remember me?_

Levi gave me a long look before pushing himself up from the table, his storm cloud eyes entirely unreadable. He held out a hand. "So, you're the doctor's apprentice?"

I narrowed my eyes, glancing at his pale fingered hand warily. To keep up appearances, however, I took his hand in mine. It was calloused and cold. "I am. And you know Dr. Yeager, how exactly?"

"Levi was also a student of mine," Grisha said, clapping him on the back, oddly cheerful. "Though, he never took to medicinal practice. Such a shame, too. He was so promising a student."

Levi looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but had forgotten how. He dropped my hand, and I brought it to my chest immediately, as if it had been scorched. A movement not unnoticed by those storm cloud eyes.

"Well, it would appear you have a much more promising student now, anyway, if the stories I've heard are true," he said, his voice smooth and passionless as stone.

On the surface, it seemed to be a compliment, but I've been mocked enough in my life to recognize it, regardless of the tone used when saying it. I felt my mouth break into a brittle smile. "Thank you, sir. You are most kind." Then, my mouth was sprinting away from me, saying, "After all the nasty rumors I've heard about you, I never would have guessed you'd be so gracious."

"Amos," Dr. Yeager said, using the voice he usually reserved for Eren. "That is no way to speak to—"

"It's fine, Grisha. The brat's right, I do have a reputation for being a particularly nasty bastard." He blinked once, expressionless. He said nothing else to contradict that statement, just leaving it to dangle there as bait.

I didn't bite. I kept my tongue firmly between my teeth.

"No one who truly knows who you are would ever say such a thing of your character, I'm certain," Grisha offered gently. "For all his stoicism, Levi really is quite the—"

But I never found out what Levi truly was, because he was interrupting in his passionless voice, "What were those piece of shit Military Police doing here?"

Grisha's eyes widened, then narrowed. "How do you know about that?" He ran a hand along the side of his face. "Is that why you're here, Levi? And here I thought you'd come to pay your Master a _pleasant_ visit."

"Is that how you got this?" Levi nodded toward the puckered scar running next to Grisha's right eye where he'd been smacked in the head with a glass bottle. He had just recently taken out the stitches. It was healing nicely. "What the hell were they doing here, Grisha?"

"Taxes," Grisha said, his voice level.

"Tch. Taxes? I took care of those for you months ago." Levi's face was carefully composed, but there was some smoldering anger lining his voice.

"They required more." Grisha shrugged, and Levi's shoulders stiffened. Dr. Yeager made a calming gesture with both hands, as if smoothing the air. "Now, Levi, this is nothing to get worked up ov—"

"They won't be bothering you again." Levi nodded, still expressionless. But his eyes darkened a little, until they were glinting like steel in moonlight. He pivoted on one heel and strode toward the door soundlessly.

"Levi!" Dr. Yeager called after the man's quickly retreating form. He paused in the doorway, the sound of hooves on cobblestones, sharp and round as a cracking knuckle, floated past him. "Don't do something rash! Remember your control."

One fist clenched and unclenched at his side, the only visible sign of frustration he had shown. His voice was monotonous as ever, as he recited the familiar mantra I'd been chanting every day for over a month, "I must have no weaknesses. I must disguise them. I must stay in control." Craning his head over his shoulder, he eyed the doctor with one steely eye. "I'm not your pupil anymore, Grisha. This is the way that _I_ stay in control."

And he was gone.

XXX

True to his word, Dr. Yeager found me a sparring partner.

 _At last. A chance to prove myself. A chance to match wits with someone at my own level of skill. A real contest,_ I thought to myself, arriving early at our usual spot to spar.

All that excitement guttered and died as I saw three figures move through the trees toward me.

"What the _hell_ , Grisha? Is this your attempt at a joke?"

Fiery green eyes glared up at me, impossibly large in his young face. "Watch it, Amos. I'll kick your as—"

Dr. Yeager cuffed his sons ear, hard. Eren winced, and pouted moodily, but silently. "Eren is a worthy adversary for you. He has been training beneath me far longer than yourself. You should not underestimate him," Grisha said sternly. "And language, Amos. I do not need you rubbing your filth off on my son."

I was humiliated. "But—"

"I don't want any arguments. From either of you," Grisha said pointedly, eyeing both of us.

Eren scowled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Why should I fight with him, father? I'm so far past his—"

"Because there are things you can learn from each other," he said. "And because I say you will."

Dr. Yeager looked me over with serious grey eyes. "Eren's hand-fighting is quite exceptional. He has years of experience, and is easily the match of any two boys his size." He tapped Eren on the shoulder twice. "Amos, on the other hand, is new to hand-fighting and has much to learn. But he is stronger than you, and taller, with a better reach. He also possesses a certain cunning, which you lack." I looked at Grisha, unsure of what to make of his compliment. I'd never received one from him like this.

"Also," Grisha continued to Eren, "you will very likely have your mother's height, not mine, when you are grown, so you should practice fighting those larger than yourself." He smiled softly at that. "Lastly, he is new to our technique, and for this you will not mock him."

Eren nodded with a small frown. I noticed Dr. Yeager hadn't specified I couldn't be mocked for other reasons.

Elizabeth's little fingers grasped my tunic, tugging until I glanced down at her. I sighed once through my nose. "I'm rooting for you, Amos."

"Lizzie!" Came the petulant reply of Eren. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Elizabeth asked, cocking her little head innocently.

"Aren't you gonna root for me too?" He cried, throwing his hands in a wide arc around himself.

"That goes without saying," she replied primly. "But I will be cheering louder for Amos, because he is my big brother."

Eren frowned and started to say something, but Grisha quickly cut him off, speaking formally, "Nothing with the intention to injure." He held up fingers, marking the rules he had taught me when we started hand fighting. "You may strike hard, but not viciously. Be careful of the head and neck, and nothing at all toward the eyes. You are each responsible for the other's safety. If one of you gains a solid submission against the other, don't attempt to break it. Signal fairly and count it the end of the fight."

"I already know this," Eren huffed.

"It bears repeating," Grisha said sternly to his son. "Losing a fight is forgivable. Losing your temper is not. This is why I have brought you here, Eren. You have my temperament. You must learn to control it."

I gave Dr. Yeager a curious glance. I'd never pegged him for the short-tempered type, he'd always been the very picture of serenity around me. _The control this man has is impeccable._

Eren looked down. "Yes, father. I'm sorry, sir."

Grisha patted his shoulder soothingly, and addressed us both. "Injuring another through carelessness is against my teachings, so please be cautious."

I couldn't see how my beating up an eleven-year-old boy was cautious in any sense, but I knew better than to say so. "Yes, sir."

Eren simply nodded, still disheartened and bowing his head.

Grisha's grey eyes gleamed in the dappled afternoon light filtering through the branches above us. "You may begin."

"Goooooo Amos!" Elizabeth shouted from a nearby tree. I swore that girl was part squirrel. She could climb like no human ought to.

I grinned up at her, but Eren was crouching, falling into his starting stance. It was nothing like mine. His legs were very close together, with only perhaps an inch of space between his knees. He also faced forward, not sideways, and held both fists near his cheeks. And he was bouncing, hopping in a sort of split-step motion that I assumed let him adjust quickly in any direction and for any attack.

 _What is this? Why is his fighting style so different?_

I shot Dr. Yeager a confused look, but he just smirked and nodded back toward Eren, who asked cockily, "Are you ready?"

I nodded uncertainly, bringing up my own hands _._

 _I can't fight a little kid full out, that's just unfair…_

I wasn't ready for the fiery fury of Eren Yeager.

Eren darted forward, catching me flat-footed. His arm drove out in a punch straight toward my groin. I almost laughed, but kept the sound tucked away in my gut.

 _Sorry, but that maneuver doesn't work on me._

However, to keep up appearances, I crouched so he struck my stomach instead. Luckily, by this point I knew how to take a punch, and a month of hard training had made my stomach a sheet of muscle. Still, it felt like someone had thrown a rock at me, and I knew I'd have a bruise by dinner. I got my feet under me and flicked an exploratory kick at him. I wanted to see how skittish he was, and hoped to make him back away so I could get my balance settled and make better use of my longer reach.

It turned out Eren wasn't skittish at all. He didn't back away. Instead he slipped alongside my leg and struck me squarely in the thick knot of muscle directly above the knee. Because of this I couldn't help but stagger when my foot came back down, leaving me off balance with Eren close enough to climb me if he wanted.

He set his hands together, braced his feet, and struck me with a maneuver I'd never seen before. His nimble feet caught the back of my ankle, and his hand found its way to the back of my neck, while his opposite knee dug into my core. The force of it knocked me over backward. Given the thick grass, it wasn't a hard landing. I rolled to get some distance and came back to my feet.

"You can do it, Amos! Show no mercy!" I heard Elizabeth's little voice call down from the trees.

I was panting. I was losing to a kid. Eren smirked infuriatingly, his fiery green eyes glittering.

 _I'm seriously getting my ass handed to me by a child! I can't hold back anymore!_

Eren chased me and made another maneuver, this one was a flurry of punches. He was fast and near-impossible to catch, like a damned trail of smoke filling a room, every time I tried to take the offensive he darted back with sinuous speed. But when I was on the defensive, which is to say most of our spar, I had the advantage of having longer legs, and managed to back away or block everything he threw.

Then, he faked a kick and I fell for it, giving him the opportunity to hit me right above the knee in the same place as before. It hurt, but I didn't stagger this time, instead stepping sideways and away. Still he followed me, relentless and overeager. And in his haste, he left an opening.

But despite the bruises and the fall he'd already given me, I couldn't bring myself to throw a punch at a little kid. I knew how solidly I could hit Grisha, when I did land one, anyway. But Eren was such a tiny twig of a thing. I worried I would hurt him. Dr. Yeager said we were responsible for each other's safety, and if I hit him full out, I could do some serious damage. I pushed aside the voice inside me telling me I was going soft, and refused the opening.

Instead I grabbed him with Climbing Iceberg. My left hand missed, but the long, strong fingers of my right hand wrapped all the way around his slender wrist. I didn't have him in the proper submission, but now it was a game of strength, and I couldn't help but win. I already had his wrist, all that remained was to grip his shoulder and I'd have him in Sleeping Stream before— Eren made a foreign movement with his hands.

He used both hands, striking and twisting so quickly that my hand was stinging and empty before I could think. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled, lashing out to kick my leg in a fluid motion. I leaned, buckled, and he stretched me out flat above the ground. This landing wasn't soft, more a jarring flop onto the grass. It didn't completely stun me, but that didn't matter because he simply reached out and tapped my head twice. Signaling that if he'd wanted to, he could easily have knocked me unconscious.

"Damn." I murmured. Eren smirked with a self-satisfaction that made me wish I had taken the opportunity to knock his lights out _._

 _Little bastard._ I gave him a glare that promised future retribution.

"What was that?" Dr. Yeager asked, his eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

"Nothing," I said, rolling into a sitting position. I ached in several places, including my pride.

 _His hand fighting is exceptional,_ I thought wondrously, watching Eren and Dr. Yeager discuss the fight. Grisha seemed to think otherwise, reprimanding Eren for his lack of control. I sighed and shook my head once. _Next time, I'll kick your ass, kid._

Suddenly, Elizabeth's warm hands were pressed against my face, her brow creased with concern. "Amos! Oh, big brother, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Elizabeth. Don't worry. It takes more than a bad fall to keep your big brother down." I rolled my shoulders once before rising to my feet, plucking her off the ground and into my arms. "Your cheers gave me strength today, Elizabeth. Thank you."

Her cheeks reddened with the beginnings of a blush. "You-you're welcome, Amos." She hugged her arms around my neck, murmuring, "I'm sorry you didn't win."

"Me too."

"Lizzie!" Eren called, stalking toward the well-worn path leading back to the clinic. "C'mon, let's go! Father gave me some money for the candy-man!"

She squealed and squirmed, until she was back on the ground. She took off running and was gone a dozen steps before she remembered herself and hurried back. "I'll bring you back something too, big brother!"

Gesturing for me to lean down, she planted a small kiss on my forehead, and then, before I could consider the amount of adoration we now held for one another, she was flitting away through the trees with Eren at her side. I could still hear the smirk in his voice as he faded into a bodiless voice, saying, "Did you see that, Lizzie? _I_ beat your precious Amos."

There was fury in her voice, as she said, "Pfft. Big brother could have won if he wanted to!"

"Lizz—." And then they were too far to properly make out consonants and syllables, just a buzzing of childish voices.

I had just began walking back toward the clinic, when I heard Dr. Yeager's calm voice behind me, saying, "You lost that fight."

"Observant, aren't you, Dr. Yeager?" I said, my mouth running away from me again. I sighed, turning around to look him in the eye, adding, "Sorry, it's just—"

Grisha raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "Strange, I could have sworn I saw an opening…," he trailed off meaningfully.

"Must have missed it." I shrugged, not meeting his eye.

A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I'm glad that I chose you to be my apprentice."

I felt my pride pick itself back up at that.

XXX

When I slept I dreamt of killing them. In my dreams I stalked the city like grim death, unwavering.

"No! Please, don't!" Johnny screamed. He pissed his pants as I slit his throat just deep enough to leave him drowning in his own blood.

I didn't bat an eye, just continued to stalk my prey, my sword in hand.

A piece of crimson cape fluttered teasingly around an alleyway corner. I lurched forward, grabbing it. "Dammit! This is what you get, you fucking monster!"

But as I carved out his heart, I realized with horror that this was no stranger. I killed Grisha, his blood spattering my hands like hot grease. Then I killed Eren. He moaned and screamed, twisting on the ground. His wounds were horrible, but I could not look away. I could not stop my hands from driving the sword into him again and again and again.

Then I was chasing Elizabeth through the cobwebs of streets, my sword naked in my hand. She was crying out, weeping in fear. When I finally caught her she clutched at me, knocking me to the ground, burying her face in my chest, sobbing. "No no no," she begged. "No no no."

I came awake. I lay on my back, terrified and not knowing where my dream ended and the world began. After a brief moment I realized the truth. Elizabeth had crawled into my bed and lay curled against me. Her face pressed against my chest, her hand grasping desperately at my arm.

"No no," she choked out. "No no no no no." Her body shook with helpless sobs when she couldn't say it anymore. My shirt was wet with hot tears. My arm was bleeding where she clutched it.

"Elizabeth?" I asked, still groggy with sleep. "Elizabeth. Look at me. What is it? What's wrong?"

But I knew. I knew too well the nightmares that accompanied the defilement of your body. My mouth was dry.

"I can see—I can see them. Their faces," she choked, clutching my arm harder with her nails. I welcomed the pain. Anything was better than this. "Please, big brother, make them go away. Don't let them touch me! Don't let them hurt me!"

"It's okay." It wasn't. "I'm here. I will protect you, I promise."

I made consoling noises and brushed at her hair with my hand. After a long while she quieted and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep, still clinging tightly to my chest.

I lay very still, not wanting to wake her by moving. My teeth were clenched. I thought of those red cloaks, dark as spilled blood in the moonlight. I remembered the blood and screaming and the smell of death as they died screaming. I remembered it all and dreamed of worse things I could have done to them.

XXX

"Name the component structures that comprise the hand." Dr. Yeager looked expectantly at me from across the table.

I named all twenty-seven bones, alphabetically. Then the muscles from largest to smallest. I listed them quickly, matter-of-factly, pointing out their locations on my own upraised hand. The speed and accuracy of my answers impressed him, though he hid it.

"Good," he said simply, inclining his head once.

I gave a long, forced yawn, stretching like a happy cat. "What can I say? I'm a genius. Marvel at my—"

Titters of laughter erupted from Eren and Elizabeth. I grinned wider, winking at them.

Grisha rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. "Don't encourage him, children. He'll never be able to fit that head of his through a door otherwise." He did his best to not look amused. "Now, back to your studies."

They sighed, but returned to their respective readings. Eren, a book on rhetoric and logic, and Elizabeth, a book comprised mostly of pictures. I caught Eren stealing glances over her tiny shoulder as often as he could spare.

"So," I said, drawing out the word as I leaned back in my chair so far the two front legs were off the floor and my back grazed the wall behind me, "when are you going to let me get my hands on one of those patients of yours?" Then, with a toothy grin, I added, "The gods know they could use a good doctor to look after them. I've heard terrible things about the one they've been stuck with lately."

He drew a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, ignoring the jab. "Soon, Amos."

I let the chair legs fall back over the floor with a loud _clacking_ sound, startling Eren and Elizabeth from their reading. "Oh, come off it, Grisha! Why don't you trust me? You know I can handle it, dammit!"

But before Grisha could reprimand my too-quick tongue, volatile temper, lack of control, and, of course, foul mouth, the door came swinging open with the smell of sunlight and spring blossoms.

"Hello?" An unfamiliar, distinctly feminine voice said.

"Mom!" Eren hopped up from his chair and ran toward her, pulling up short as he remembered himself. Growing boys didn't cling to their mothers like babes, so he feigned disinterest in her open arms and directed his green eyes at the basket at her hip. "What did you bring me?"

Snorting in an unladylike manner, she said, "I missed you too, my son."

She kissed his cheek, and he wiped it vigorously with his shoulder. Handing him a parcel, she smiled as he scampered off and settled back in his seat, quickly unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a strudel. My mouth watered and I resisted climbing over the table and stealing it.

"Carla," Dr. Yeager said, rising fluidly from his seat. "What are you doing here?"

Brushing back an errant strand of dark hair, she planted a kiss over his lips. "I was in the neighborhood." She shrugged evasively.

He looked doubtful, but didn't press the issue. "Well," he said, "I believe introductions are in order."

Rising from our seats, Elizabeth and I faced Carla. Her warm brown eyes crinkled with her smile. Elizabeth beamed back at her, her grin brighter than the bars of sunshine sneaking past the drapes along the windows.

"This is Elizabeth." Dr. Yeager gestured to the waifish, barefooted girl.

She placed one foot behind the other gracefully, curtsying. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Yeager."

Carla's laugh was like bells. She fell seamlessly into a curtsey of her own. "And you, Elizabeth. But, please, call me Carla."

Elizabeth flushed and nodded. Carla reached into her wicker basket, unearthing a second parcel, this one she handed to Elizabeth, who cocked her chin minutely before hesitantly grabbing it. She unwrapped it more delicately than Eren, gasping as she found a strudel of her own lying there.

"Oh, Carla," she sighed reverently. "Thank you!"

"You are most welcome, little one," Carla said. Her smile was warm and easy and achingly like my mother's.

It hurt to look upon, so I looked away.

"And who is this strapping young lad?" I heard her boots ring over the stone as she inched closer.

"That is my apprentice." If I hadn't been so distracted by the unwarranted memories of my mother and her forgotten smiles, I might have noticed the fatherly pride with which he said it. "Amos. Amos, this is Carla."

Looking up, I avoided her eyes, focusing on a strand of her hair falling past her shoulder. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"So polite," Carla said sincerely. "You should teach my son how to behave more like you."

Dr. Yeager's mouth curled into an amused smirk, and I shot him one of my own. "I'll try, ma'am."

Eren glowered, but continued to devour his strudel, crumbs littering his cheeks and the table. Elizabeth, meanwhile, tore small pieces from hers and chewed them delicately, somehow making the whole process look genteel.

"Please," she said, "I must insist that you call me Carla. There is no need for formalities, Amos."

Nodding, I continued to look at everything but her smile and eyes. She smelled comforting, the way only mothers do. It wasn't a smell you ever forgot, no matter how long it had been since your mother had been dumped into a mass grave.

"How are you enjoying your apprenticeship with Grisha?" She handed me a third parcel. My stomach growled, forcing away the lingering images of death and decay.

I clutched the package with hungry fingers. "Very much. He's a wonderful teacher."

I looked at Grisha, meeting his grey eyes briefly. His expression wrung a smile from me.

Carla patted his shoulder fondly. "He is. But I've heard that you are quite natural, regardless of his teachings. Grisha goes on and on about how—"

"Carla," Grisha said. "did you bring me anything?"

She looked momentarily puzzled, then with a small smile I sensed was reserved only for him, she tugged another parcel from her basket. This one was smaller and wrapped in different paper, black as night. "He sends his regards."

Grisha held the package against his chest, as if he were cradling a baby. "Thank you, dear."

There was an exchange of silent stares and I knew that there was more there than met the eye. But then it was over, Carla's easy smile flashing in the sunlight. "So, I must be honest," she started. "I came with more intention than a simple visit."

Dr. Yeager raised a brow. "Oh, now the truth comes out."

Swatting his shoulder playfully, she laughed her tinkling laugh, and said, "I came in hopes of persuading Amos and Elizabeth to stay in our home. This is no place for children to be left alone at all hours. They need proper care, _motherly_ care. Besides," she added, looking at Dr. Yeager in a way that made it perfectly clear it didn't matter what his input was, "we have plenty enough room to spare."

"True," Grisha said, stroking his greying facial hair with one hand. "I am sorry to say that I assumed you would not desire more children in our household—"

"Why would you ever assume that?"

He shrugged, a sly smile winding over his lips. "Our son is quite a handful on his own."

"I am not!" Eren protested, spittle flying from his mouth onto the table.

Carla waved them off with a grin. "I won't hear any more of your nonsense. Now, you two," she said, gesturing toward Elizabeth and me, "you simply must come stay with us. Please, nothing would make me happier than to share company with new faces!"

Elizabeth was at my side, holding my sleeve gently. "I'll go if big brother does."

I felt my stomach turn with the thought of Carla fawning over me motherly, but I knew that that was exactly what Elizabeth needed, so with a forced smile, I said, "We'd be honored to stay in the Yeager household."

XXX


	7. Chapter Seven: Family

**Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin.**

 **Warning: Canon divergence. Unexpected character death. Language. AND TRIGGER WARNINGS! EXTREMELY GRAPHIC CONTENT THAT SOME VIEWERS MAY FIND DISTURBING!**

 **Author's Note: Hello everyone, and happy holidays, if you celebrate. I hope you're all doing well! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope you enjoy! As always, thank you to my beautiful beta, winged gorgonzola.**

 **Shout Outs: Thank you to the following members for adding my story to their story alert: AuroraStargazers, Genius-Magician, skinnyboy282 and ArticXice. You guys are the best! Also, thank you so much to AuroraStargazers and ArticXice for adding Almost Human to their favorites, that was so sweet of you!**

 **And, as for the reviews, a warm thank you to lilnightmare17 and AuroraStargazers!**

 **To lilnightmare17, thank you for your continued support, it means so much to me!**

 **And to AuroraStargazers, thank you for such a lengthy review! I read it like twenty times with the biggest grin plastered over my face. Your praise was so unexpected, and I very much appreciate it. I am so happy that my exploration of the characters and their development has satiated your curiosity thus far, and hasn't completely bored you to death, lol. It's slow going, this plot, but it will start picking up some speed very, very soon, I promise. And, oh my goodness, thank you! I am so happy that you think Aria/Amos has resulted in a realistic OC, that is high praise, indeed! Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Seven: Family**

I watched the rain run down the windowpane in Dr. Yeager's office with boredom. The glass was milky, full of bubbles and wet as summer dusk fell outside.

I was supposed to be studying herbology, but I could barely focus on the words anymore. I longed to be sparring, or practicing my Water-Bearing technique, or, better yet, my swordplay. But, no, I was stuck there, reading about plants and their medicinal value.

"Amos," Dr. Yeager's voice floated over my shoulder. "It's time."

Swiveling around in my chair, I raised a speculative brow. "Time for what?"

"Your first patient."

XXX

I was a jangling mass of excitement as we made our way to the sickroom. And then that moment ended, the butterflies fluttering around my gut wilting and dying.

Levi Ackerman was dripping wet with summer rain; the emerald cape he'd worn the first time we met was back in place, marking him as the soldier I knew him to be. His black hair hung in lank strips over his forehead. He nodded once toward me, his face its usual blank mask. "Hello, brat."

"Levi," I said, forcing my teeth apart. I carefully arranged my face into a neutral expression, not quite able to quirk the corners of my lips into a smile; but it was better than scowling. "What a pleasant surprise. Don't tell me _you're_ injured."

"Do I look injured to you?" His expression remained locked in that infuriating cool impassivity, but his voice held the barest hints of derision. I bristled, but he continued to insult me, saying, "Your powers of observation are astounding, brat."

"Listen here you ass—"

"Amos," Dr. Yeager said, holding open one of the white sheets around a metal bed. I could just make out the outlines of a body behind it. "Your patient is ready for you."

Glaring in the direction of Levi, I squared my shoulders and brushed roughly past him, muttering something obscene that he could do at his earliest convenience. He was utterly unfazed, but if I didn't know better, I might have thought that the glint in his blue-grey eyes was something akin to wry amusement.

Stepping past Dr. Yeager and the curtain, I saw a young man in a green cloak like Levi's, except his was torn and bloody. He looked a little wild around the eyes, murmuring nonsense to himself as I moved closer. I immediately noted his broken arm.

 _Okay, I can handle this. No sweat._

I took a deep breath and reached for the sheers on top of the medical table, nestled beside other familiar tools. They felt comforting in my grasp.

"Hello," I said in a voice softer than the rain outside, approaching him the way you might near a skittish animal. "My name is Amos, what's yours?"

More gibberish. His long, wheat-blond hair fell into his eyes, casting shadows over his face. I sat on the stool beside the bed and began assessing his other wounds, prodding his arm gently.

 _A head wound,_ I noted silently. _That'll require approximately six stitches. His arm is broken, but it's a clean break. Good. Very good._

I opened a drawer and brought out hook needle and gut, iodine, lidocaine, and a small pot of goose grease. Then, setting aside a row of bandages and a clean wash cloth, I set to work on cleaning the gash over his forehead, making sure to numb it afterward.

He still hadn't said anything to me. His eyes were very far away and hazy.

"Where are you from?" I asked, recalling the lessons I'd had with Dr. Yeager concerning the early signs of medical shock.

 _Shit_. I needed him to respond. I needed to know that that wasn't the case. If he was going into shock, I feared that I wasn't the proper doctor to deal with his injuries.

 _Dr. Yeager, why aren't you in here? I can't…I can't do this by myself._

There was a groan from the other side of the curtain, followed by the soft, soothing voice I recognized immediately as Grisha's. He was busy with a patient of his own. I was really on my own, but I should have been used to that, should have enjoyed it even. Wasn't I the one always pushing others away, telling them I didn't need them?

I clenched my jaw at that, straightening my spine as I moved back toward the table of tools. _That's right. I don't need him. I don't need anyone. I can do this._

But it was all a lie. I needed Dr. Yeager's guidance, his approval. I needed him to tell me this man was going to be okay. _Dammit, I'm going soft. I'm becoming dependent on these people._

My hands were shaking with the thought of losing a patient. _This is ridiculous_ , I thought _, I don't even know this man, why should I care if he lives or dies?_

" _Every life matters, Amos," Dr. Yeager said, folding his hands over the table, "and as doctors we must care about_ all _of them."_

"Eld," a smooth voice said behind me, pulling me back into reality. "His name is Eld."

"Captain…Levi?" Eld raised his head, his eyes flickered, coming into focus.

I heaved a sigh of relief. He was coherent, that was good. However, _his_ looming presence was not.

"I'd prefer to work alone with my patient, if you don't mind," I snapped, glaring over my shoulder at Levi's drenched form.

His eyes were like ice at the bottom of the well. "I'd prefer to have him back in one piece, newbie."

Heat crawled up my neck. "What's that supposed to mean?" I growled.

"I think you can infer," he said. Then, as if thinking better of it, he added, "Actually, knowing what Grisha's said about you, I doubt it, so let me make myself clear…," he trailed off meaningfully.

Prowling forward, he stopped close enough for me to smell the familiar musk of trees on his cloak, to see the specks of grey in his blue eyes, to see the vein pulsing in his thin, white throat, waiting to be cut wide open by the scalpel clutched behind me if necessary. He said quietly, but not gently, "If you get any funny ideas concerning my subordinate—"

"Is this a threat, sir?" I interrupted.

I felt a grin capture my face, wolfish. But he wasn't smiling, or frowning, or scowling, just staring expressionlessly. However, there was a malicious glitter in his eye as he said, "Interrupt me again, and it might be."

There was a tendril of fear winding down my spine, and I tried to ignore it, but I knew what this man was capable of. I knew that he could kill me. The old me would have continued prodding the beast with a hot poker until it lashed out and beat me to a pulp, but I was different now. I'd learned my lesson—more than once, in fact.

So, biting off the next few words I'd callously chosen for him, I shook my head and turned away, "Look, I'm training to be a doctor, okay? So, let me do what I do best, and you can go back to skulking about in the waiting area."

All right, so maybe I hadn't completely learned my lesson. But this was a much better option than the others.

Levi gave me a look of profound disdain, his brow narrowing dangerously. "I'm not leaving my comrade with a novice, brat."

Rolling my eyes and swiveling back toward the bed, I sighed, "Fine. Just stay out of my way then."

He kept quiet, watching vigilantly over his comrade. Pale and sweating, Eld began a constant stream of nervous chatter while I methodically cut his cloak and shirt away. "They died, Captain. All of them. Whin, James, Bern…all…gone," he choked, fat tears streaming down his cheeks the same way the rain pooled over the windowpane.

"They did," Levi said, suddenly beside his subordinate on the opposite side of the bed.

 _When did he move?_

"But not in vain. We will continue their fight. We will not let their deaths be meaningless," Levi said softly.

My breath stopped when I saw his face. His usually blank expression was like a shattered mask. Underneath, Levi's expression was haunted, eyes half in this world, half elsewhere, remembering.

It reminded me of the face I saw in the mirror every day. I quickly pushed that thought aside, unable to stomach the thought.

He reached for Eld's bloody hand, clasping it in his own. "That's why I need you to get it together for me, Eld. Can you do that?"

Eld's coffee-colored eyes widened, glistening with more tears. "Y-yes, sir!"

I quickly diverted my eyes from Levi as he lifted his gaze to mine, choosing to examine Eld's chest instead. There were several livid looking bruises, but nothing life-threatening; all good signs. My hands steadied. My heart slowed. I reached for the wooden splint on the table, but it was gone.

"Here," Levi said quietly, his voice passionless stone once again, "let me."

Raising a surprised brow, I asked, "Have you ever mended a broken bone?"

He nodded. "It's been a while, though, so I'd prefer just holding the splint for you."

"No, thanks," I said coolly, snatching the splint from his hands. "I can handle this on my own."

I bound the splint and bandage together with a small smile as Levi glowered openly at me. Either his expressions were becoming less veiled, or I was getting better at reading them; either way, I found gratification in annoying him as much he did me.

"There you are, Eld. Good as new," I said.

He attempted a shaky smile, but there were still tears brimming his eyes and wobbling his lips. "Thank you, sir."

"You're lucky," I said, making quick work of threading my needle and stitching together the gash on his forehead. "It didn't need to be set. You hold off using it for a month, and it should heal up just fine."

"A month?" He cried. "But the mission tomorrow—"

"No," Levi said sternly, no longer acknowledging my existence. "You're going home. Enjoy the month off."

"But, sir, please I need to—"

Levi cut him off with a sideway slice of his hand, "Think of it as an unexpected vacation. Your wife will be glad for it."

"A mission?" I asked, placing the needle in a basin of hot water and soap. "Going outside the walls again so soon?"

Levi crossed his arms over his chest, looking over my work with a critical eye. But judging by the slight raise of his brows, he seemed marginally impressed, though he'd never admit it. I felt a smirk wind its way over my mouth at that.

"I don't call the shots, brat. I just follow orders," he said, shrugging.

Rinsing my hands, I grinned. "You sound like a well-trained puppy, Captain Levi. Eren will be mortified to hear his favorite hero is nothing more than a—"

I felt a blade touching the middle of my back. "Talk like that about my Captain again and I'll carve out your insides and feed them to you. Got it?"

The smirk curdled on my mouth, twisting into a tight frown. I felt my fingers crawling toward the scalpel beside the basin. "Is that how you show courtesy to those who've helped you?"

Eld pressed the blade harder into my back, and I felt the tip puncture my tunic. "Apologize to my Captain, and I'll be more than happy to thank you, kid."

Wary, I considered my options. I didn't have a blade at my disposal, and even if I did somehow get Eld's away from him, I wasn't nearly at Levi's level yet. I swallowed hard against my pride and had just started apologizing when Levi's smooth voice interrupted me.

"That's enough, Eld. Put your blade away. You need to rest."

I whipped my head over my shoulder, shocked. Eld struggled for a moment, opening his mouth, then closing it with a frustrated look, then repeating the process. Finally, I heard the distinct sound of steel against leather, and then the sheet pulled back to reveal the fiery green eyes of Eren.

He gasped, instantly recognizing the wings of freedom on Levi's cloak, and then he practically squealed with childish delight as he realized that the one wearing it was his idol: Levi Ackerman. Humanity's strongest soldier.

"Captain Levi?! Father didn't say you were visiting! Will you spar with me today? Please, please, please?!" He said without pause and with the speed of racehorse.

Levi blinked once, uncrossing his arms. "Not today, kiddo. Actually," he said, glancing out the window, "I should be going now." Then, to me, he added, "Let Dr. Yeager know I'll be back by in a month. Take care of yourself, Eld."

He was gone without another glance or word, in a flurry of wind, rain, and lightning.

XXX

A month passed with summer sunshine, more patients, and no signs of Levi Ackerman. Apparently, the scouts had their hands full concurring mankind's first stronghold. I wasn't distraught over his delayed appearance, however Eren and Grisha seemed sullen since the letter arrived in his scrawled hand, saying simply _: won't be back for another month._

And I was not disappointed when Eld had finally returned home either. It had been a hellish three days of bickering and scowling. I may have even considered drugging him with lethal doses of morphine, but I restrained myself.

My lessons continued, yet we had still not delved into _using_ the sword. Just theory. Just talking. It was irksome.

I continued to spar with Eren in the forest behind the clinic. I looked forward to these encounters despite the fact that he thrashed me with cheerful ruthlessness every time we fought. It took three days before I finally managed to beat him.

Awful as it might sound, I was proud. And justifiably so. Eren himself congratulated me when it happened, seeming more than a little surprised that I had managed it. Elizabeth just smiled her sunny smile and puffed out her chest proudly, saying, "I always knew you'd win, big brother."

She and Eren deteriorated into one of their childish quarrels, chasing each other through the woods. I chuckled as Elizabeth landed a soft smack across Eren's forehead, taunting him.

Dr. Yeager was also pleased with my victory, visibly so. "You stayed in control, but you still won. That is virtuous, Amos. Your progress pleases me."

Giddy with praise, I couldn't help the impish grin that morphed my face. "So, can we focus more on my swordplay now?"

"No," he said, shaking his head once, falling into his usual fighting crouch, his hands up, ready to jab and protect. "Hands only."

I sighed, my grin faltering. "Must we, Grisha?"

He raised an eyebrow at me, his hands still raised in front of his chest. "Must we what?"

"Must we always focus on hand fighting?" I said. "My swordplay is falling farther and farther behind."

"Am I not your teacher?" he asked, frowning. "Who are you to say what's best?"

"I am the one who will have to use these skills out in the world," I said pointedly. "And out in the world, I would rather fight with a sword than a fist."

Dr. Yeager lowered his hands, his expression blank. "And why is that?"

"Because other people have swords," I said, recalling the gleaming blue steel Levi carried at all times. "And if I'm in a fight, I intend to win."

He sighed, a line of frustration creasing the middle of his dark brow. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he said so softly I suspected it was more to himself than me, "And here I thought we were past your foolish pride. I thought you were progressing with your control. It would seem I was wrong." Then, with that same placid expression from before, he asked, "Is winning a fight easier with a sword?"

His outward calm should have warned me I was stepping onto thin conversational ice, but I was distracted by my blind determination and bruised pride. Though honestly, even if I hadn't been distracted, it's possible I wouldn't have noticed. I had grown comfortable with Dr. Yeager, too comfortable to be properly careful.

"Of course," I said. "Why else carry a sword?"

"That is a good question," he said. "Why does one carry a sword?"

"Why do you carry anything? So you can use it."

Dr. Yeager gave me a look of raw disgust. "Why do we bother to work on your control, then? Why do we have you broaden your mind with science and language and arithmetic if you're _only_ interested in using blades?" He asked angrily, reaching out to grab my jaw, pinching my cheeks and forcing my mouth open as if I were a patient in the clinic refusing my medicine.

I tried to pull away, but he was stronger than me. I tried to push him away, but he shrugged my flailing hands away as if I were a child. Grisha let go of my face, then caught my wrist, jerking my hand up in front of my face. "Why do you have hands at all and not knives at the ends of your arms, Amos?"

"Grisha," I started, "I—"

"Do you think I am teaching you the secrets of the sword so you can go out and use them? So that you can just kill whoever you please?" he demanded. I dimly realized he was shouting. It was the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice.

I'd never seen him like this before, his whole body drawn up into a tight knot of anger. He was shaking with it. He drew back his arm to strike me...then stopped. After a moment his hand fell to his side. Then, calmly, he asked, "Is that what you think we are doing here?"

"Honestly," I snapped. "I don't understand what the fuck we're doing here anymore."

His jaw feathered, threatening to split through his skin. Before he could respond, I was on him, using Crashing Wave. But he was ready.

Dr. Yeager took one single, perfect step and he'd evaded my attack, simultaneously tapping six of my pressure points, leaving my arms and legs completely useless. I fell bonelessly to the ground.

"Take some time to consider that last question, Amos," he said, his face a shadow above me. "What do you think we are doing here?"

I growled, but he interrupted, saying, "When you have an answer that is suitable, we shall resume your training, until then you will be studying books only. Understood?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

XXX

Two hours later I sat alone in my room at the Yeager home.

The ceiling of my tiny room slanted downward in two corners, making it seem even smaller than it really was. It would have been cluttered if there had been more than the few sticks of furniture: a small desk with a wooden chair and a single shelf above it. The bed was flat and narrow. But it was mine, and I appreciated having a space I could call my own.

My mood was exactly what you might imagine, except worse. I threw the book I was supposed to be studying that night—silly poetry—across the room. It bounced off the wall across from my bed and fell with a dull thud onto the floor.

I was tired of getting in trouble for being myself. I was ashamed and embarrassed. I'd attacked my teacher. It's not like it's the first time, I thought sourly, recalling the time I'd raked my claws across Blaise's white skin. I could still smell the tang of copper; could still see his metallic eyes glowing with ire. I shuddered at the memory that accompanied it. But that was a long time ago, and Grisha was different. He was kind and gentle and wise, and I'd fucked up everything. Again.

Even so, I was unbelievably frustrated at the way Dr. Yeager continued to hinder my path toward vengeance. I respected him, more than any teacher I'd ever studied under, but my progress felt glacial, and that simply wouldn't do, not for me.

His words rang over and over in my head: _what do you think we are doing here?_

I still didn't have a damn clue.

Perhaps if I just told him why I wanted to learn swordplay? But no…I couldn't. He'd never understand. Levi was a precious ex-pupil of his, anyway, so he'd never allow me to kill him.

But the thing that was perhaps the most irritating—no, it was terrifying—was that being myself no longer felt _right_. I was slowly losing any sense of who I used to be, but who was that, exactly? A princess with something to prove? A warrior looking for revenge? A scared girl running from—

 _Stop_.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and forced the voices in my head to go silent. And then I fell into a restless sleep.

 _My father was standing behind me. "There you are, Aria. Just like that."_

 _His strong hands were on my shoulders, showing me how to stand holding my sword. His fingers adjusted mine on the hilt. "Very good."_

 _Then my mother was brushing my hair. I felt her arms circle around me. My head fit perfectly into the curve of her neck. I sat, curled in her lap next to the fire at night, drowsy and happy and safe._

 _These were the worst memories. Sharp as a mouthful of broken glass. Precious and perfect. Until they weren't._

" _Mama!"_

 _Was that me screaming? Was I ever really that small?_

" _Mama! Please, wake up! I need you! Me and daddy, we need you!" I shook her lifeless body. Her blood was on my hands, but I didn't care._

 _His arms tugged me away from her. I sobbed into his shoulder, hoping for comforting kisses or words, anything really. But none came. Only silence._

 _There was his magnificent oak door bound in brass. It was closed, just like his heart. He shut out the world, his pain, and me._

I awoke in tears, lying in bed, clenched into a trembling knot, unable to sleep, unable to turn my mind to other things, unable to stop myself from remembering. Again. And again. And again.

Then there came a small tapping at my door. A sound so tiny I didn't notice it until it stopped. Then I heard it ease open behind me.

"Big brother?" Elizabeth said softly. I clenched my teeth against the sobbing and lay still as I could, hoping she would think I was asleep and leave.

"Big brother?" she called again. "I brought you—"

There was a moment of silence, then she said, "Oh."

I heard a soft sound behind me. The moonlight showed her tiny shadow on the wall as she came toward me. I felt the bed move as she settled onto it. A small, cool hand brushed the side of my face. "It's okay," she said quietly. "Come here, big brother."

I began to cry quietly, and she gently uncurled the tight knot of me until my head lay in her tiny lap. She murmured, brushing my hair away from my forehead, her hands cool against my hot face. "I know," she said sadly. "It's bad sometimes, isn't it?"

She stroked my hair gently, and it only made me cry harder. I could not remember the last time someone had touched me in a loving way.

"Don't cry, big brother," she said. "Do you…do you want to talk about it?"

My body clenched. "I miss her," I said before I realized I was speaking. Then I bit it off before I could say anything else. I clenched my teeth and shook my head furiously, like a horse fighting its reins.

"You can say it," Elizabeth said gently.

"I'm never going to see her again," I choked out. Then I began to cry in earnest.

"It's okay," Elizabeth whispered. "I'm here. You're safe."

XXX

The Yeager family resided in a cottage among the outcrop of Wall Maria called Shiganshina.

Sometimes these outcroppings were prosperous. Some had rich soil. Some thrived on the trade moving through them. The wealth of these places was obvious. The houses were large and well-mended. People were friendly and generous. The children were fat and happy. There were luxuries for sale: pepper and cinnamon and chocolate. There was coffee and good wine and music at the local inns.

Then there were the other sort of towns, like the fishing village, Fiske, that my ex-cadre had occupied. Towns where the soil was thin and tired. Towns where the mill was burned down, or the clay was mined out years ago. In these places the houses were small and badly patched. The people were lean and suspicious, and wealth was measured in small, practical ways. Cords of firewood. A second pig. Five jars of blackberry preserve.

Unfortunately, Shiganshina fell mostly into the latter category. It was littered with narrow cobblestoned streets that wound through ancient limestone buildings leaning clumsily against one another. Mortar crumbled from stone walls, ivy hid the decay that lay beneath, unseen but always felt. The village had been cobbled together piecemeal—crooked streets, uneven steps, blind alleys—over a hundred years.

In most parts of Man's Walls, or the ones I'd grown up in, for that matter, a family living in a small cottage with only a few sticks of furniture would be viewed as unfortunate. One step away from paupers.

But while the Yeager home was relatively small, it wasn't the same sort you would find in a desperate outcrop town, made of sod and logs chinked with mud.

Their home was all snug stone, fit together as cunningly as anything I had ever seen. There were no cracks. No leaking roofs. No cracking leather hinges on the doors. The windows weren't oiled sheepskin or empty holes with wooden shutters. They were fitted glass, tight and clear and beautifully crafted.

And there was no fireplace. Don't get me wrong, fireplaces are better than freezing to death by a long step. But most of the rough ones folk can build for themselves out of loose fieldstone or cinder-brick are drafty, dirty, and inefficient. They fill your house with soot and your lungs with smoke.

Instead, the Yeager home had its own iron stove. The sort of stove that weighs hundreds of pounds. The sort of stove made of thick drop-iron so you can stoke it until it glows with heat. The sort of stove that lasts a century and costs more than a farmer earns from an entire year of hard harvesting.

The rugs on the floors were mostly simple, but they were of thick, soft wool, deeply dyed. The floors beneath those rugs were smooth-sanded wood, not dirt. There were no guttering tallow tapers or reedlights. There were beeswax candles or lamps that burned a clean white oil.

It was all this that made me realize the truth. These were not desperate folk, scratching out a lean existence. They were not living hand-to-mouth, eating cabbage soup and living in fear of winter. They were living comfortably, and quietly prosperous. Yet, their only income was the meager one that Dr. Yeager was bringing home from the rundown clinic for the less fortunate souls of Wall Rose.

It left me wondering yet again who he really was, and how he'd come into such an obvious fortune.

But now was not the time for questions. Besides Dr. Yeager was still ignoring any I had, unless they were over my studies. Now, it was story-time.

We all watched Dr. Yeager with the anxiousness of one watching a clock, perched on the edge of our seats. It had become a most anticipated and desired pass-time of ours. Every evening after dinner, Carla, Eren, Elizabeth and I would listen to the fantastical collection of tales Grisha had acquired from the many corners of the world.

We were, of course, instructed never to retell them. It was against the law for Dr. Yeager to even know these stories, let alone have the tomes hidden away in his cellar. We would all be hanged for it, which only made the stories more intriguing.

There were some about knights crusading to find a Holy Grail, and others about gods themselves coming down to earth, but my favorite one was about a female warrior stealing her father's sword to lead the greatest army the world had ever seen. Tonight, though, the story was more…abstract.

"A creation story?" Eren whined. "But we've already heard one of those! I wanna hear about the salty seawater and the great whales that live there. And the sand snakes that come out of the ground like sharks. And the dry men who hide under dunes and drink your blood instead of water. And—" He was cuffed quickly into silence from three different directions by Elizabeth, Carla and me.

Grisha leaned back, his grey eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Trust me, my son. You will want to know this story, for this is the truest story I know…"

Eren's emerald eyes widened at that, all eagerness and curiosity. He made no further complaint and scooted closer to his father's feet on the floor.

"Right," Dr. Yeager said, looking up from his son's gaze, his voice low and rough, almost hypnotic. "Let us start from the beginning then, shall we?"

It was a purely rhetorical question. I looked out the window, at the waning summer sunset. By the time the moon appeared, he'd end the story, no matter where he was. A strange hope fluttered around my chest that it would be at the end this time.

"In the beginning…"

XXX

In the beginning, a shadow of the sun and sliver of the moon fell from the sky. Each with its own motive, each with its own desire.

The flaming shadow wanted more than anything else: power, destruction, and revenge. He was a terrible, wrathful force, bent on the annihilation of his estranged lover, the moon and all she held dear: her children, or as you and I call them, mankind.

The shadow was clever and cunning and vengeful, because, you see, the moon had chosen another lover: earth. They were much more harmonious than she and the shadow, who often abused the poor moon. Earth was kind and gentle, if a little reserved. He was accepting of the moon and her beautiful flaws, and together they birthed three daughters: the goddesses Maria, Rose and Sina.

The moon was fiercely protective of them and their children and their children's children, and that only spurned the shadow more.

So, he built children of his own. Demons in the skin of humanoid monsters, a horrible mockery of the moon and earth's own children. And to make matters worse, he gave them one singular purpose: to devour humanity.

And devour they did, voraciously, in fact. It drove the earth mad and the moon to moaning and weeping and despair. Until, finally, she'd had enough of death pounding at her door, dragging away more and more of her screaming children; until, finally, she took up arms against the shadow, and constructed terrible half-breeds of monster and men: Raynar, Mikael, Hedda, Andel, and Kari.

These children were savage, ruthless killers, designed for one purpose: to eradicate the plague threatening to annihilate her children. But they were much harder to control than she'd anticipated, and they were about as likely to kill humans as they were the monsters devouring them.

So, the moon wept more tears for what she'd done, but she could not undo the warriors. She could only guide her new children, with the hope that someday they would rally together and end the threat lurking around every bend.

Of course, her husband empathized with her grief, but not with her retaliation. He warned her that by repaying vengeance with more vengeance, she'd create a vicious, unbreakable cycle. But she didn't listen, so with a heavy heart, he abandoned her.

Joining up arms with his sister, the wind, they created a breed of exceptionally gifted humans, but humans nonetheless. They were swift as the wind, and strong as the earth. They were cool and grounded and just. And within them lie a mystical power that would allow them to turn the tide for either light or dark, whatever their volition.

The shadow had not expected any of this. He had foolishly believed that the moon would sink into her despair and take to the sky once again, leaving her beloved earth and children behind. And that the earth would go into mourning for his lost wife. When it was clear that neither would yield a step to him, he decided to hunt down the mystics forged from earth and wind, and to infiltrate one of the moon's most adored children: Robert.

He was a poor clergyman of a long-forgotten church, spouting sermons about the moon mother and her kindness. He was a follower of the Faith, which was the only religion known at that time. But his heart was not pure, for he was a flawed man, just like all of humanity. It was their curse, a curse breathed upon them by the shadow's own tongue.

So, it was with a flawed, curious heart that he listened with when the shadow visited his ramshackle church one winter night.

XXX

But there was no winter night in that story, just Grisha stretching from his seat with a tired yawn. "Time for bed. The moon has hidden herself this evening, but it is nightfall nonetheless, and that means—"

"But, dad!" Eren cried. "You can't just end it there. What happened after Robert and—"

Eren was cuffed into silence once again, Carla prodding him along toward his bedroom. "Come, Eren, your father is right, it is time for bed." Then, gesturing to Elizabeth, she grabbed her tiny hand and tugged her along. "You too, Elizabeth."

"Yes, mama," she smiled, trailing along after Carla's swirling skirts.

I smiled after them, happy that Elizabeth had taken so well to her makeshift family. But, much like Eren, I was undeniably curious after the story. "Grisha," I said hesitantly, "I have a question."

He closed the window over the table gently. "Is it about your studies?"

I sighed. "No. It's about your story, actually. Is that against the rules now too?"

He turned toward me, leaning against the sill with his arms crossed over his chest. "I suppose not."

"Is that story really true?"

"Ah," he said slowly, "Is this because of the comment I made before to Eren? I must admit that that was purely for theatrics and to quiet him—"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, I ask because, well, if the goddesses were historical heroines we modeled our walls after, then do you think the moon's warrior race really existed too?"

But I already knew they did. Wall Iris was lined with five walls, one for each of the noble families: Braun, Hoover, Leonhart, Bellrose and Erikkson.

Something danced in Dr. Yeager's grey eyes, something that told me he knew more than he cared to admit. "It was just a story, Amos. Don't read too much into it." Then, with a shooing motion toward the stairs, he said, "Now, off to bed with you."

That night I dreamt of shifting alongside my brethren, and when I awoke I felt a familiar bitterness creep down my spine.

XXX

"Elizabeth?" I asked, startled as I stepped into the dark washroom that evening. "What are you—"

But it was clear what she'd just been doing. Tendrils of blonde hair curled over the floor, a pair of sheers still clutched in her little hands. "N-nothing, big brother. I just—"

"Oh, Elizabeth," I sighed gently, "why are you cutting your beautiful hair?"

I reached out to grab a short, uneven strand, and she pulled away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh?" I crossed my arms over my chest and weighed her with a level stare. "Try me, you might just be surprised."

She shook her head vigorously, refusing to look at me as tears started to spill down her cheeks.

I knelt, taking the metal sheers from her, placing them on the lip of the sink. "Elizabeth, talk to me. Is it the nightmares again? Is that why you're awake and—"

Her voice broke and she swallowed hard before the words poured out of her. "I hate boys, Amos. I hate them! A couple of Eren's friends tried playing with me today and I…I…" She swallowed again, clenching her hands into fists. Her body was so tense she was almost trembling.

"What did you do?" I swallowed against the thickness in my throat. I knew. I knew what she was going through, but I couldn't tell her that. I braced my forearms against my thigh and clenched my fists until all I could feel was my nails digging into my palms.

Elizabeth's ruined hair had fallen around her face so I couldn't see her expression. "What's wrong with me?" she said, her voice low and angry. "Why am I like this, big brother? Why did I hurt those boys? Why? Why?! Why?!"

She was slamming her fists against my shoulders desperately, tears falling freely down her tanned cheeks. She repeated it over and over again, "Why?! Why?! Why?!"

"Elizabeth." I had to interrupt her, as she was barely pausing to breathe. I laid my hand on her arm and she grew stiff and still. "Elizabeth, there's nothing wrong with you," I interrupted. "There was something wrong with those men. You've gone through something not very many girls your age have; something no one should ever suffer. But you're going to be—" I choked on the last word.

How could I tell her she'd be fine, that one day things would get easier—better—when I knew by experience that it wouldn't. It never did. She'd suffer these internal scars long after all the physical damage healed.

 _Dammit, I have to lie. I can't just let her—_

She shook her head, her face still hidden by her hair. "It's okay, big brother," she said softly. "I already know that I'll never be fine again." She looked up at last, her expression pure misery. Her eyes and nose were red. "I just don't want to be a little girl anymore. I'm sorry, big brother. I'm sorry…I just…I didn't want to upset you, big brother." She gave me a wretched look. "But you don't know what it's like."

I laughed, then. Not at Elizabeth, not at her tears, but at the sheer irony of that moment; a moment that I had already lived through in a previous life. Hell, it was one that I still lived in every day.

It felt amazingly good to laugh again. It boiled up from deep in my belly and burst out of my throat like notes from a golden horn. That laugh alone was worth three hot meals and twenty hours of sleep.

"I know exactly what it's like," I said, feeling the pull of half-healed scars along my heart. I considered telling her that a man had more than once broken me too. Then decided it probably wouldn't help her mood if I explained how I'd been bandaging my poorly-veiled scars by chasing death and having a constant identity crisis. "Elizabeth, I could never be upset with you. You mean too much to me…and…if you don't want to be a girl anymore, then you don't have to be. You can be whoever—whatever—you want to be, and I will love you all the same, okay?"

She smiled at that, sniffing and rubbing at her eyes with a sleeve of her nightgown. "Okay."

"Now," I said, standing to pluck the sheers from the sink, "let's do something about this hair."

"Thank you," she said softly, looking at me through the mirror. "I love you so much, big brother."

I paused, letting those words resonate within me. It had been such a very long time since I'd heard them uttered back to me. It felt nice.

I bent down, placing my hands over her shoulders to give them a firm squeeze the way my father used to hold my own. "I love you too, little one."

XXX

Summer slipped by with more comfort and ease than I'd ever had in my short life. And perhaps that should have been the first warning that something was sure to go amiss, that in a life like mine, nothing ever stays too perfect for long.

In any case, it was one of those perfect autumn days so common in stories and so rare in the real world. The first of autumn's falling leaves danced along the streets beside me as I walked toward the clinic with a basket of goods. On both sides of the road the trees were changing color. Tall poplars had gone a buttery yellow while the shrubby sumac encroaching on the road was tinged a violent red. Only the old oaks seemed reluctant to give up the summer, and their leaves remained an even mingling of gold and green.

And the weather was gorgeous: warm and dry, ideal for ripening a field of wheat or corn. Or mugging and killing a defenseless old man.

He was thin and weathered with thick white hair on his arms and face and head. The whiteness of it stood out from his deep brown tan, making him seem splashed with wave foam. A trickle of red lined its way down his driftwood face, down into one of his sea-foam eyebrows and along the thick mustache covering his entire mouth.

I knew this man. I recognized him instantly.

"Rybar?" I dropped the basket of summer apples and fresh bread, rushing down the alley toward his crumpled form. "Rybar? What happened? Where's Shaddock? Where's your son?"

I felt a blade press against my cheek, digging in until a bright bud of blood blossomed over the steel. A new, unfamiliar voice said, "Well, well, what do we got here, boys?"

"Looks like another pocket to loot, huh, boss?" A second voice snickered.

Rybar clutched my arm with bloody fingers. I couldn't tell where they'd cut him from this angle, but there had to be serious gashes for a puddle that big to be beneath him. It soaked into the knees of my trousers.

 _Shit…he needs to be sewn shut now. He's not gonna make it to the clinic. I don't have time for these damn bastards._

Rybar croaked, "Run, boy. Run."

That wasn't an option. I couldn't just leave him there to bleed out.

I heard four more voices sneering behind me about what they were going to do to me after they stole my money, none of which sounded pleasant or appealing.

 _Trying to cut my way out of this one's a sure invitation to an early grave…damn. What can I do? What_ should _I do?_

The blade sliced down my cheek as the one behind me put his hand over my mouth, it didn't matter, I knew better than to scream. It never did much good.

 _Kill them…kill them all,_ my mind screamed as two more pushed me down over the cobblestones. But I knew that if I tried to fight them all off we'd both die here, and I couldn't let that happen. _I have to save Rybar,_ I resolved. They began kicking me, but I knew how to take a kick now, and their bare feet would do little damage to the muscle I'd built beneath my tunic.

"Please," Rybar coughed, blood splattering over his chin. "Please, don't hurt the boy. He's innocent."

"Shut up, old man!"

Rybar yelped as one of the men kicked him hard in the face.

I growled. "Just take my purse, and leave us be."

 _I just need to get them off me and then I can save you, Rybar. Just hold on._

"How generous," one said dryly, reaching down and plucking the little velvet bag at my hip. "But that's not all we want from you, boy. You're too pretty to just pass by without a little taste."

I felt my insides turn to water. _No_. I writhed around, but the men holding me down pressed their whole weight onto me, and a third straddled my back. _No, this isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm a boy…this doesn't happen to boys…this can't…_

But it was.

They cut my clothes off my body. They cut me and told me what they were going to do to me, how they'd turn me into their personal plaything until I begged for it all to end. Their breath was horribly warm against my face. They all laughed.

"What the hell? Why you got so many damn bandages, boy?" The one straddling my back asked.

"Just slice them off," another said eagerly. "What difference does it make?"

I screamed. "No! Don't!"

But they did. I was exposed. They flipped me over so I could see their dirty faces gawking down at my breasts.

"What the—he's a girl?" The one now straddling my hips and covering my mouth looked momentarily dumbfounded.

One of the men holding down my arms laughed. "This just keeps getting better and better, boys. I thought you looked awfully pretty to be a boy." He groped my right breast, his other hand snaking toward my underwear. "Let's see what you're hiding down south, little _pretend_ boy."

There in the alleyway, half-naked and helpless, I felt something well up inside me, a piece of me that I thought I'd forgotten. And all that mattered in that moment was killing those bastards, all that mattered was vengeance.

I bit two fingers off the hand over my mouth. I heard a scream and swearing as he staggered away. Then, as the others were momentarily distracted, I kneed the one touching me in the groin. He fell away with a moan.

But the third continued to grip my arm. I strained and strained against him. Finally, I heard my own arm break, and his grip loosened. I started to howl.

I threw him off. Still screaming I stood, my clothes hanging in rags around me. I knocked him to the ground. My scrabbling hand found a loose cobblestone and I used it to break one of his legs. I remember the noise it made. I flailed until his arms were broken, then I broke his head.

The others swarmed me like hornets swarm a nest, and I was outnumbered, but I didn't care anymore. I didn't care about saving Rybar, or myself, all I cared about was killing as many of those monsters as possible.

I twisted like an eel and slammed a heel down across the instep of the one nearest me. There was a sudden cry of pain, and I had his blade in my hand. I flew at another, knocked him backward and landed on his chest with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the cobbles. I gouged out his eyes with a snarl, relishing in the feel of warm blood oozing over my fingers.

"She's fucking crazy!" One shouted, pelting off, running toward the mouth of the alleyway and into the busy streets beyond.

Two others followed him, staggering in their haste to escape, but I caught them, cutting them down viciously. One with a plunge through the skull, the other with twenty-five stabs to the chest and belly.

The one that had groped me was back up, standing near the man with what appeared to be two missing fingers. He clutched his hand to his chest, and his eyes were white and wild as he huddled against the wall, muttering, "Please don't hurt us. Please don't hurt _me_."

"Fuck you," I spat.

I smiled as they screamed terrible, filthy words, shitting themselves as they died beneath me.

The world snapped back into focus, and I caught myself mid-stab as I plunged my knife over and over into the corpse beneath me. I dropped the blade and stood, looking at my hands as if they were somehow to blame.

 _Who was that just now? Was that me?_

I'd completely lost control.

I pushed back my hair, someone else's blood smearing across my face. I ignored the churn of my stomach as I looked around frantically for Rybar.

He was lying unnaturally still, his weathered eyes looking up at the hazy blue sky. I sprinted toward him, but I knew it before I even touched his wrist, checking for a pulse: Rybar was dead.

 _I took too long._ I cradled his bloody, bruised head in my lap.

 _I am to blame._ I heard footsteps coming toward me.

 _Me and my lack of control._ "Papa?" Shaddock asked. "Papa!" His scream echoed.

 _Me and my selfish desire to kill._ "I'm so sorry, Shaddock," I heard myself say. "It's my fault he's dead."

 _Me, just me._ I saw tears in Shaddock's eyes as he mouthed something that I could not hear, carrying his father's corpse away to the wagon full of fish and love and kindness.

XXX

I don't recall the trek to the clinic, but somehow I found myself swaying half-naked and bleeding in Dr. Yeager's doorway. He rose from his desk gracelessly, knocking over several books as he rushed toward me.

"Amos," he said hurriedly. "Amos, what happened to you. My God, are you all right?"

His hands were searching for wounds, and he quickly found my broken arm. I winced, but the pain felt very far away, as if I were dreaming about it.

"Amos, talk to me. Tell me what happened." Grisha was moving me to the empty set of chairs surrounding his table, already setting my arm, bracing it with a splint and bandages. He was efficient even in his panic. "Who did this to you?"

I blinked, trying to remember how to speak. It seemed to take a long time to form any words, but finally something slipped past my lips. "It doesn't matter. I killed them."

He was checking my pupils (dilated), then my pulse (erratic). "Amos. Why—"

"Because they killed a defenseless old man," I said numbly. _No, that wasn't it_. I tried again. "Because they held me down and cut off my clothes and told me they'd rape me bloody, even though I was a boy." _Still not right, but almost there._ "Because they found out I was a girl, Grisha. They _knew_. They touched me and—" I sobbed. _No, no, that isn't right either._ "Because I have no fucking control! Because I am selfish!"

Grisha came forward and gathered me into a clumsy hug, his speckled beard tickling the side of my face. "It's okay. Shh. It's going to be okay. I will not let anyone hurt you like that ever again."

It was the first time I'd ever believed that phrase.

XXX

" _Please," I begged. "Please. Stop, now!"_

 _His lips pressed over mine, swallowing my screams as he entered me without preparation and without warning. I raked my nails across his face, thrashing my body hard against his, desperate to heave him off me. But he just punched me hard against my jaw, and I saw stars, my body going limp momentarily beneath his pounding hips._

" _Why'd you make me do that to you, Aria? Hmm?"_

 _I didn't answer. There was a strange strangled hiccupping noise resounding through my room, but I couldn't quite place what it was._

 _ **Is someone else here? Why don't they help—?**_

 _His gold eyes flashed, as if he'd read my mind, and he hit me again, this time against my cheek. I yelped. Something wet trailed down my face, and I realized dully that I was sobbing._

" _I'm so sorry," he said suddenly, breathing hotly against my throat, his blood-red hair spilling out against my cheek and tickling my nose. "I hate that I have to do this to you. I hate that you make me this way."_

 _ **I make you this way? Is this my fault?**_

 _He kissed me then, feather-soft. I almost kissed him back, but the pain between my legs was making me tremble and I couldn't purse my lips enough to reciprocate the caress. "I love you, Aria. I really, really do."_

 _I blinked against hot tears, looking away from his metallic-gold stare. They sparked to life, forged by a belligerent anger. His hands wrapped around my throat as he finished on top of me, not even bothering to pull out or ask if it was okay. But he didn't ask if any of this was okay, so I wasn't really surprised._

" _Say it back, Aria," he hissed._

 _His hands squeezed harder. I hoped he'd kill me, but I knew better. He'd never break his favorite puppet. I was his, forever and ever._

 _I choked, "I love you too, Blaise."_

I came awake, choking on those words, my throat raw and aching. I shuddered beneath my blanket, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

 _It was just a dream. It's okay. You're okay._

I wasn't. I never would be, but sometimes lying to yourself is the only way to survive trauma you can't wash away with soap and water; trauma that cannot be mended with stitches or bandages or medicinal practice.

The dreams had been happening more frequently since the attack. Each night was different: some were about those awful men doing exactly what they'd threatened to do, others were about Rybar's corpse looking up at me and screaming, "It's your fault" over and over and over again, but the worst were the ones about Blaise, about the things he'd done to me, about the things he'd still do to me if he could.

I pushed away all those disgusting memories, and sat up in my bed. Through the window I could see the lights of the stars unblinking in the cool autumn air. I couldn't sleep. Again. So, rising from my bed, mindful of my broken arm, I padded down the hall toward the stairs, heading for Dr. Yeager's study where I'd left my reading material for that week.

But something stopped me halfway there. A sorrowful, lovely sound. An achingly familiar sound.

 _Music_.

Carla was sitting astride the bench of the pianoforte in the family room, her fingers dancing over ivory and ebony keys. The way her entire body moved through each chord was like a dance, and I was reminded of another woman hovering over the now dust-covered piano in my childhood home.

 _Mom_.

I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat and forced myself to enjoy the song. _That's what she would've wanted_ , I thought distantly, clutching my cast with trembling fingers. _Do it for her. Listen for her._

I could hear my mother's cries in every note. It was heartbreaking. And then, just when I thought I couldn't take one more passage of that dreadfully poignant song, it changed.

This piece was a celebration—a reaffirmation of life, glory, of the pain and beauty in breathing. Carla eyed me over her shoulder, letting me know that she was aware I was there; letting me know that this one was for me. She smiled that motherly smile and turned back toward the piano, but she didn't need to watch her fingers, they knew instinctively where to go.

Up and up the song built, the sound breaking from the pianoforte like the heart-song of a god, until I drifted over to stand beside the instrument, until she whispered to me, " _Now_ ," and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note.

The music clashed around us, roaring through my blood, making my heart pound. The hollow emptiness that had filled me since Rybar's death and the attack in the alleyway now overflowed with sound.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Carla brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord. It was breathtaking.

When she looked up at me, panting, I felt my eyes line with tears, which I quickly knuckled away. My throat bobbed, and it was a struggle to find the words, but I finally managed to say, "Would you—could you show me—show me how you did that?"

She obliged me, gesturing to the space beside her on the bench. Carla was a wonderfully patient teacher, always smiling gently and encouraging fervently. She complimented me more than I deserved, and we both knew it.

"You are certainly a quick study, Amos. You've picked up on far more than I'd have expected of a novice," she said, watching me plunk through another scale. "Do you have previous training on the pianoforte?"

I swallowed, my fingers slipping over the wrong key. Wincing, I said, "Briefly, yes. But it was a long time ago."

"Oh," she said, directing my finger to the right note. "Who was your teacher?"

"My mother."

Pity wound its way over her mouth, a gentle hand squeezing my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Amos. I didn't mean to—"

I finished the scale, shrugging. "It's fine, Carla. You didn't do anything wrong."

There was a pause, and as she watched my fingers clumsily fall over the next scale, she asked hesitantly, "Would you like me to resume your lessons, Amos? Pick up where she—your mother—left off?"

I think it took me a long time to respond, long after my fingers had completed the scale, surely; but when I did I couldn't help the tears lining my eyes. This time I did not wipe them away. "Yes, Carla. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot, thank you."

XXX

"We'll be back, Amos," Carla called up the stairs, her gentle voice barely audible over the giggles of Eren and Elizabeth.

"All right," I said. "Well, you know where to find me."

A soft, motherly laugh. "Don't study too hard, dear." Then, to the squealing children, she said, "Come along, you two. The bakery will be chaotic if we wait much longer."

The door snicked closed behind them, and I was alone with my reading material: a detailed history on a mad king of a distant land centuries before our world sprang up around us. Dr. Yeager demanded that I read it while he was away on a call from mankind's own mad king, a great oaf of a man, according to the gossip of the commoners.

It was a terribly droll piece of literature, one that had me drifting into a much-needed nap, when suddenly a sound like a cannon alerted me, jolting me upright in my seat.

"What the—," I breathed.

Darting toward the window above my narrow bed, I saw the culprit, and with it felt an icy dread and panic in my gut: a humongous red hand gripped the wall, and above that were two dark eyes glaring down at the city with all the malice of a demon.

" _Bertholdt_."

XXX


	8. Chapter Eight: Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own SnK.**

 **Warning: Major canon divergence, foul language, violence, and character death. Read at your own risk.**

 **Author's Note: Hello everyone and happy holidays, if you celebrate! I hope that you're enjoying this story so far, and that this chapter delivers what you're looking for! Also, if you like it (or not) please let me know with a review, follow or fav!**

 **Shout Out: Thank you to littlenightmare17 for the review. I am both pleased and flattered to find your consistent encouragement! It keeps me going. I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and that I hear from you again. Thank you so much.**

 **Almost Human**

 **Chapter Eight: Lost**

I was out of the Yeager home— _my_ home—faster than I thought possible, my feet barely skimming the cobbles. My broken arm lay uselessly over my stomach, but my other hand gripped the sword I'd hardly touched since my training with Grisha had started. Though, what I planned to do with it, I was uncertain.

It was just a useless shard of steel without the damned gear I'd practiced using in the academy. But I didn't care, I'd figure out a new way to save my family.

A cold sweat swept over me and I felt nausea in the pit of my stomach. I had known fear before. In the slums of Wall Rose it was never far away. Fear kept you alive. But I had never felt such a desperate helplessness. A fear not just for my body being hurt, but for my entire life being ruined. I began to get light-headed as I began running in the direction of the bakery.

 _I have to find them. They're okay. We're going to be okay. I'll save them. My family will not die this time. I will not—_ cannot _—lose them._

The world became pure sound: the roar of Bertholdt as he looked upon us like darting ants, drawing back his foot and kicking in the wall, the thunderclap of stones as big as houses breaking and flying and crashing, the beat of my heart, people screaming.

Rubble rained down like great bits of hail, people shouted and cried out. I saw a woman fly into the air like a rag doll and hit the ground in a heap beneath a broken rooftop.

"Oh my God! They've broken through! Run! Run for your lives!" someone screamed, and then they were upon me.

Chaos. Dust. Crowds. The street was a living, breathing dragon of humanity. It pounded over me, like a sea at storm, everyone running and screaming as their fragile peace came crumbling down around them in the wreckage of their walls.

Trees snapped in half and fell over, buildings came crashing down, more fragile than dollhouses. Flames burst into existence. Smoke filled the air. People yelled for help, babies cried, and the smell of death was everywhere.

It was all I could do just to breathe, to stand upright, as bodies slammed into me over and over again. I couldn't move, but I saw them.

"Oh…God…" I breathed.

Half of Carla's body was buried beneath a spire from the church she'd dragged us to every Sunday since I'd moved into the Yeager home. She was gone; a bloody, dead mess, but Eren was scrabbling desperately against the stones, trying to unearth her broken body.

"Mom! Mom, no! C'mon! Get up, dammit!" he screamed.

The sound of heavy footfalls resounded through the clogged streets, and I knew what was coming: titans. It had been a long time since I'd been this close to one, but I'd never forgotten the terror they struck within me. This one was at least fifteen-meters tall with a viciously hungry smile.

"Eren! Run!" I yelled, but he didn't hear me. Or, to be more exact, he couldn't hear me, not over the other panicked sobs and screams pressing over him.

 _Goddammit! Why? Why?! WHY?! I need to do something. I need to shift! I have to!_

I bit down hard on my tongue, until I tasted blood. But, as always, nothing happened. I was still helpless. I was still small.

The grinning titan plucked Eren from his mother as if he were nothing more than a pebble, as if he were not a living, breathing, healthy boy. And then it crushed his bones to dust, until the boy I'd been sparring for weeks was an unrecognizable mass of flesh. All his dreams he'd so fervently spoken of died with him in a bloodcurdling scream. I felt my throat tighten, watching Eren's mangled corpse fall over the beast's tongue. It swallowed with a satisfied smile and Eren was gone.

"No! Eren! No!" I howled, shoving people aside. But the crowd was too thick, and I couldn't make any headway.

It was too late anyway. I couldn't save him. I couldn't save anyone. I was just a fucking human, a useless human trying to compete with titans. I was still the same girl I'd been all those years ago, helpless and tearful, begging death to give my family back, bartering anything I had with the Devil.

The beast was moving again, grabbing more people off the road, devouring them with a sickening snap of its teeth. I felt my knees begin to give out, and I was ready to die, to be eaten and digested like Eren, but then I heard a familiar cry.

"Big brother! Help me!"

 _Elizabeth? Elizabeth!_

Elizabeth was running toward me, her gem-like eyes glistening with tears. I was back on my feet, slamming hard against the wall of bodies surrounding me, stepping over the remnants of the ones beneath me. I still had one last person I could save, and I would, no matter what the cost.

I cried, "Hold on, Elizabeth! I'm coming! I'll—"

But that damned beast turned its hungry grin on her, and it reached down to snatch her up with greedy fingers. She struggled against it, banging her tiny fists, but the titan didn't feel a thing, just squeezed until the sound of bones breaking filled the air. Streams of blood shot out from her head like tendrils of red yarn.

"No," I murmured against my hand. "No."

She fell over the cobblestones as a pair of silver wires circled around the titan, distracting it momentarily before it was cut down by a soldier. I stood, unable to look away from Elizabeth, her blood-spattered dress, the crushed bones. I stared as if it were a diagram in a book I was trying to understand. My body grew numb. I felt as if I was trying to think through syrup.

Some small rational part of me realized I was in deep shock. It repeated the fact to me again and again. I used all Dr. Yeager's training to ignore it. I did not want to think about what I saw. I did not want to know what had happened here. I did not want to know what any of this meant.

XXX

I made my way to Elizabeth as people poured past me, like a stream around a stone.

Her white dress hung in tatters. I tried to brush her hair away from her face and my hand came back sticky with blood. The firelight of the burning bakery behind me reflected in her flat, empty eyes.

"Come on, Elizabeth, breathe for me. Please," I begged, clutching her shoulders, shaking them gently. "Do it for your big brother. Come on!"

I began performing CPR, pressing my hands hard over her chest, but there was no response. I pressed my lips over her bloody ones, releasing a breath from my lungs into hers, and still her chest refused to rise and fall by itself. I don't know how long I sat there, desperately clinging to her lifeless body, forcing air into her corpse, but eventually I collapsed, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

There's a book that Dr. Yeager and I read once that said crying defies scientific explanation. Tears are only meant to lubricate the eyes. There is no real reason for tear glands to overproduce tears due to emotional outbursts, it defies our biology.

I think we cry to release the animal parts of us, the demons lurking inside. Because inside me, a beast snarls, and growls, and blames me for their deaths, for my weakness, and selfishness. And as hard as I tried, I couldn't kill it.

So, I sobbed into my hands instead.

Tears streaked my face as I thrashed blindly over the street. I knew that she was dead; I knew, but was unwilling to admit it. I couldn't. I could not afford to lose any more people that I loved.

 _My fault. It's all my fault._

My eyes felt hot and red. I raked madly at the cobbles with hands that were numb and cold as ice.

I was aware of someone shouting, but it seemed very far away. Grisha kneeled above me, but I couldn't move, couldn't respond as he asked me something. He seemed almost distracted, as if he were listening to something I couldn't hear.

And then he was moving me away from her, prying my clawing fingers from her broken body. "No," I screamed. "No, don't! She needs me! Leave me! Leave—"

"She's dead, Amos," Grisha said calmly. "We cannot save her anymore. We must move. Now."

All my muscles clenched and my throat ached from a scream that did not shape itself into words and would not stop. I don't know what clutched my heart then: fear, sadness, anger. No, I don't think that what gripped me then was an emotion that existed, and if did it shouldn't have.

I watched her corpse with watery eyes, banging my fists helplessly over Grisha's shoulder as he ran toward the safety of Wall Maria.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ It was becoming my mantra.

XXX

There were mangled bodies everywhere, and fires, and billowing black smoke. People were screaming, crying, dying.

An old man moaned, "Help me."

The ground was marshy with his blood. A stomach wound gaped through his ripped shirt; entrails bulged out of the torn flesh.

"Grisha," I heard myself say. "Please, stop. He needs a doctor."

"He's already gone, Amos." Grisha didn't pause on the blood-slicked cobblestones, just kept pelting along, dodging danger at every turn: a titan here, a falling building there.

I saw a girl in soiled pajamas standing by a dead woman, crying. The child's face was covered in blood, her mother's, and her hair was matted with it too. But beneath that, I could just make out the gold of her curls and the blue of her eyes.

 _Elizabeth?_

I struggled against Grisha, reaching toward her. Dr. Yeager yanked me hard against him.

"It's Elizabeth! I have to help—" I started.

"That's not Elizabeth, Amos. And your dying won't help that child," he growled, pulling me so hard it hurt.

I bounced against him in a daze. We dodged body after body, most of which were ripped beyond repair, bleeding, bones sticking out through their clothes.

I stared at it all with one thought in my head: I knew.

I knew all along that this would happen, and I did nothing to stop it. I didn't want to. _What kind of monster am I?_

"Almost there, Amos," Dr. Yeager murmured.

I wanted to tell him to leave me to die; that I deserved a fate worse than death for the part I'd played in this horror. But my mouth wasn't working anymore. I just shuddered against him, as if my body were freezing, but I was perfectly warm. I was perfectly alive.

"Load those cannons!" A soldier shouted as we pressed closer to the gate. "Do it now!"

"What's the point?" Another screamed.

Titans were swarming. There were too many, and cannon fire had never been an effective weapon against them. The damn bastards regenerated over and over again, no matter how many times they were blown to pieces.

"Now's not the time for fucking questions! Just do it, dammit!"

Cannon fire erupted: loud and smoky and utterly useless. Titans continued to clamber toward the inner gate, people rushed by, soldiers abandoned their posts, and Dr. Yeager and I joined them, waiting nervously at the lines of the docks.

"Shit," a man said. "We're not all gonna make it out on those things!"

Those things were three ships connected to wires, responsible for evacuating the survivors to Wall Rose. At most they could transport half of the people standing there.

The crowd's voices melded into a single desperate growl as one ship pushed off, sailing toward the wall looming safely in the distance. Frantic, some of the survivors hurtled off the docks and onto the moving ship, claiming that there was more room. Most died, breaking over the stone ravine like glass dolls.

I watched dead-eyed, letting myself be jostled in all directions. Dr. Yeager was speaking with a blond soldier, who quickly pushed the two of us toward the front. Grisha was a vital asset to the walls as it was, seeing as he'd single-handedly cured the plague eight years ago, but now he was even more important. They'd need him at the refugee encampment to tend the wounded, if any of them survived the trek.

 _If there's even an encampment left...I'm sure the other two are lurking somewhere—_

There was a flash of sparks and smoke behind Wall Maria. Soldier's screamed as the gate sunk slowly, closing over the screams of survivors now trapped in the lion's den.

"What's that?" A man beside us asked, puzzled. "Didn't seem like cannon fire."

 _That's because it isn't_ , I wanted to say, but I just craned my neck around, watching with brimful eyes as Reiner's glistening armored-body came barreling through the wall, sending more rubble over the crowd, lessening the burden for the impending journey. Somehow it missed the other two ships.

 _Lucky_ , I thought sourly. Grisha's grip on my arm was firm as he tugged me quickly across the dock, tucking me into a cramped corner of the ship.

But _he_ saw me. Kneeling in the grass, Reiner's steel jaw dislodged with smoke and sparks, as I caught his dark eyes staring at me knowingly until I was hidden behind the rails of the wooden ship. I should have been gasping with fear, or screaming with the rest of mankind, but I couldn't find anything to be frightened of anymore.

 _No, wait…there is still one left. I can still save Grisha._ I clenched my fists, staring over the railing at Reiner's titan body, unsure of exactly how I could save Grisha from the man who'd beaten me on more than one occasion.

He was gone in a flash, like a magic trick. But I knew better; I knew all about the "magic" behind his shifting, even if my own abilities eluded me, even if they didn't exist at all. He was nearby probably, hiding out among the chaotic crowd, feigning fear.

 _Only one left,_ I thought distantly, watching as Dr. Yeager stared out over the ship, looking strangely calm for a man witnessing the power of a shifter for the first time. Annie would show up soon, and then we'd all be dead. And if Blaise was around…

I didn't want to even consider his appearance and what it would mean. Instead, I sunk lower onto my haunches, watching for signs of Annie, blinking away the fog covering my senses. I'd been clinging to it, that numbness, like someone in a shipwreck clings the stone of shore, but now I needed my wits about me, now I needed that constant state of pain to drive me toward killing my brethren.

 _No, not brethren. These bastards are my enemies. I'll kill them for what they did._

"Amos," Dr. Yeager murmured beside me.

I ignored him. Vigilantly looking for Annie's blonde head.

"There she is," I growled.

I saw a sheet of golden hair bobbing along beneath a hood, but it was just a tear-stained mother with scraps of what appeared to be her child's body. She pushed it into a soldier's hands, begging hysterically for him to piece her baby back together. The blood-stained soldier choked, swallowing down tears and vomit as he tried to explain that her child was dead. She collapsed into him.

"Amos," Dr. Yeager said, louder and sharper. Then, before I had time to turn and face him, he asked, "What are the medical properties of hellebore?"

The answer was automatic. These types of questions had littered all my training and lessons, and now they came easy as breathing. "Anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, mild sedative, mild analgesic. Blood purifier. Toxic if used excessively. Dangerous for women who are with child."

He nodded, pleased. There was a time when that mattered to me, but as we pushed away from the dock and the pile of dead bodies beyond, I felt only annoyed and confused.

"What is the oxidation-reduction theory?" He gave me an expectant look over his spectacles.

I snapped, "Who cares about that, Grisha? Don't you want to know what happened—," I choked hard on the words, but they eventually worked their way out, "—to them; to Eren and Carla and Elizabeth? Your family? _Our_ family?"

He closed his eyes for the space of half a breath, then opened them again. "I _know_ , Amos. I know they're de—"

" _No_ ," I snarled. "No, you don't know, Grisha. You don't know how they suffered. You don't know."

"Amos," he said, using the indulgent tone mothers use on their babies and doctors use on their patients. "Amos, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you saw that; that I wasn't there," He slid toward me, closing the gap between us. "I'm sorry," he said again. The words resounded in my head, echoing off a memory.

" _I'm sorry about your mom, Aria," Reiner murmured against my neck, hugging me in his arms as I wept against his shirt. "We're all sorry."_

 _Annie and Bertholdt's hands rubbed gentle circles over my back, but it wasn't enough. No amount of comfort or sympathy could ever wash away the pain and guilt trapped inside me. Nothing could ever bring her back, and that was the hardest truth to cope with._

Nothing would bring them back either. They were dead. All dead; all gone. I stared at my fingers, pretending not to see Elizabeth's blood still splattered over them.

" _Big brother! Help me!"_

I wiped my hands over my trousers, hoping that that might quiet her little voice screaming inside my head. It didn't.

Still looking down, I closed my eyes and drew several slow, shallow breaths. It wasn't Grisha's fault that this happened, it was mine. When I looked up, I could barely find my own voice. "I'm sorry, Dr. Yeager," I said. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just—"

I stopped. Grisha's face was blank, his eyes far away. His body swayed gently with the movement of the ship, undulating as if it were made entirely of water and not flesh and bone. I sprung, jostling the bodies pressed all around us, but they didn't seem to notice, as I made to catch him if he fell. His face was pale and stricken, and his swaying increased.

"Grisha?" I asked. "Grisha, are you okay?"

He held the rail of the ship tightly with one hand and looked out over the ruins of Wall Maria, one tear streaming down his cheek. It was all the answer I needed.

XXX

"Here," a soldier sneered, shoving a moldy scrap of brown bread into my hand. "Take it, you swine."

I blinked at the morsel of food, my stomach grumbling angrily. There were hungry eyes watching me greedily from all sides, the survivors flooding through Rose's gates were exhausting the dwindling supplies already, and it had been less than a day. I shook my head as a handful of other angry soldiers stared at me with a mixture of hatred and disgust, as if it were my fault that food was becoming scarce, or that the wall had fallen.

 _If only they knew…_

I clenched my jaw, shaking my head at the tendrils of guilt and shame snaking up my spine. "I'm not hungry. Keep it."

His dark eyes narrowed as I pressed it back into his palm. "What? Too good for the food around here, _princess_?"

"God's mother," Hannis, an older man I vaguely recalled escorting Grisha and I to the medic tent, said to him. "You don't have the sense God gave a dog. That's no way to talk to the—"

"Don't give me any of your lip, Hannis," the younger, scowling soldier bristled back. "I got a good right to ask the boy questions if I want." He turned to me and took a few steps toward me.

Hannis glowered, but stayed silent, busily handing more scraps of bread crusts to other hungry survivors. The dark eyed soldier continued to scowl bitterly. "You think you're better than the rest of the shits that got dumped on our lawn this afternoon?"

I felt an ember of anger being fanned to life by that, but it was dim and still very far off. Turning away, stomach growling, I shrugged his comment off and began stepping back toward Grisha and the medical tent we'd been toiling tirelessly within since our arrival four hours before.

"I think you do. I think you think that just because you're Dr. Yeager's apprentice that you deserve special treatment."

The soldiers crowding closer around him craned to get a better look at my face, watching for signs of danger. But I was tired, so tired, and just continued moving away, avoiding near-collisions with sobbing mothers and screaming children.

He cut me off, his long legs catching up to me easily. His expression grew darker as he leered down at me with dark, coal-like eyes. "You hear me, boy? Maybe you think all of us are stupid here? You think if you heal 'em all back up you'll get a reward or maybe we won't send you out to fight those bastards you left back there?" He was almost within arm's reach of me now, scowling furiously.

 _Ah…so that's what this is about,_ I realized dimly.

I looked around and saw the same anger lurking in the faces of all the men who stood there. It was the sort of anger that comes to a slow boil inside the hearts of good men who want justice, and finding it out of their grasp, decide vengeance is the next best thing. Even if it's aimed at the wrong source.

 _They feel helpless right now. They're scared. If it could happen to Maria, it could happen to Rose too, and then what? Wall Iris finally gets what they want. Revenge for the royal family would finally be achieved…isn't that what you wanted?_

Brushing off the thought, I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. "I don't have time for this," I said, sidestepping him, and making my way back to the tent.

"Tch." The anger leapt out of him, a whip cracking hard over my back. "Yeah, go back and heal your wounded. The titans are probably starving after eatin' all your other friends! We'll send ya'll in as a dessert for 'em!"

There were frightened gasps all around me, wide teary eyes watching through blood-spattered faces. I broke his arm before I quite realized what I was doing. He screamed as he fell to the ground. I pulled him to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

"What's your name?" I snarled into his face.

"My arm!" He gasped, his eyes showing me their whites.

I shook him like a rag doll. "Name!"

"Roy," he blurted. "God's mother, my arm!"

I took his chin in my free hand and turned his face toward the tearstained faces of the survivors scattered around the street. "Roy," I hissed quietly in his ear. "I want you to look at those people. And I want you to think about the hell they've been through today, about the terrible losses they've suffered. And I want you to ask yourself what's worse. A broken arm and empty stomach, or witnessing your family being eaten by a titan?"

Then I turned his face toward me and spoke so quiet that even an inch away it was hardly a whisper. "After you've thought of that, I want you to pray to God to forgive you for what you just said. And if you mean it, God grant your arm to heal straight and true." His eyes were terrified and wet.

"After that, if you ever think an unkind thought about these people, your arm will ache like there's hot iron in the bone. It will go to fever and slow rot and they'll have to cut it off to save your life." I tightened my grip on him, watching his eyes widen.

"And if you ever say anything like that again, I will come here, and kill you, and leave your body hanging in a tree." There were tears on his face now, although whether from shame or fear or pain I couldn't guess. "Now you tell them you're sorry for what you said."

I let go of him after making sure he had his feet under him and pointed him in the direction of the survivors that had heard his last statement, each of them sobbing and trembling.

"I'm sorry," he moaned.

Looking around I saw the anger bleed out of the faces of the soldiers around me, as if I'd used up the whole garrison's supply in a sudden, furious flash. Instead they watched Roy, looking slightly embarrassed, as if he were apologizing for the lot of them.

The survivors nodded in intervals, staring at me in barely concealed wonder. I ignored it, heading toward the looming tent near one corner of the makeshift encampment.

"Come along, Roy. Let's fix that arm of yours," I barked over my shoulder.

He jolted, snapping to, as he said, "Yes, sir." Trailing along after me with his head bowed, he avoided meeting eyes with his fellow soldiers.

"Will it heal straight and true," he murmured behind me once we were near the entrance to the tent: a large burlap sheet set over rusty poles.

I nodded once. "Yes. Lucky for you, you have the best doctor here to look after you."

"I've heard Dr. Yeager is a—" he started.

I laughed. "Dr. Yeager? No, he's too busy for the likes of you, Roy. I was talking about Dr. Fischer."

"Oh," he said slowly, disappointment lining his eyes. "Who's that?"

Smiling, I opened the flap of our makeshift door. "Me."

XXX

Roy's arm was a clean break, though with his thrashing and screaming, you'd have thought the bones had been crushed to dust beneath his skin. Rolling my eyes at the stream of tears tracking down his cheeks, I said, "You're all finished now, Roy. You can go, you big ba—"

"Amos," Grisha's voice lashed over my back. "What is the meaning of this? Hannis said he's here to collect his comrade. He said that you broke this man's arm."

Sighing, I turned to explain, but Roy beat me to it. "It was my fault, sir. I was out of—"

"No," Dr. Yeager said, grey eyes peering sharply through his spectacles. "Amos knows better than to resort to such petty violence, especially given the circumstances of today."

Roy tried again, gulping as he looked between Grisha's rigid spine and my bent one. "But, sir, he—"

"Leave us." Dr. Yeager didn't spare another look at the soldier as he moved quickly from the chair and out of the tent.

Patients moaned around us, all broken and dying slowly. I wished that I was among them as Grisha stared down his long, thin nose at me. He was about to reprimand me on control, but what I needed was to be beaten and tortured for what I'd helped unleash upon his— _our_ —family.

"What were you thinking—?" he started, his grey eyes cold as a winter's morning.

"I wasn't," I said, collapsing into the chair, all the air evaporating from my lungs on a bone-weary sigh.

 _I deserve this. I deserve to be punished,_ I thought. I think a part of me wanted it even, that that was why I'd broken Roy's arm to begin with. I hated myself even more for it.

"That much is obvious," he snapped. "I can't believe that given everything we've been through today you would just—"

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice intervened. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Whirling around, Grisha's fury fizzled until all that was left was relief and exhaustion. "Levi?"

Levi inclined his head in a curt nod. His hair was mussed from his journey, and he smelled overwhelmingly like dead leaves and dirt, but his presence was a small joy for Dr. Yeager, so I wouldn't complain. "We rode as fast as we could when we heard, but—"

Grisha pulled Levi into a tight embrace, ignoring the rigidness of the smaller man's spine as he squeezed him tightly. "There's nothing you could have done. I'm glad you're safe, Levi, my son."

Levi and I met eyes over Dr. Yeager's shoulder. He looked around for the rest of our family, but they were nowhere to be found. He frowned. "I should have been there. I'm sorry."

Dr. Yeager shook his head, pulling away, fighting tears. "No, no, don't blame yourself, Levi. You know that it does nothing but destroy one's mind." Taking a deep breath, he tugged his glasses from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why don't I make us all some tea, I think we could all use some herbal remedies."

He swung a copper kettle over the small fire we'd used to heat pots of water for the patients we'd been tending all afternoon. Levi stood beside the chair next to mine but did not sit or offer any greeting. I wasn't offended; I was relieved at the prospect of not having to open my mouth. I was afraid of what might come spilling out.

 _My fault. My fault. My fault._

Dr. Yeager bustled about, placing wooden cups in our hands, his eyes never meeting ours. He was busying himself because if he didn't he'd break. I remembered what that was like. I gripped my cup and swallowed a mouthful of confessions.

 _My fault. My fault. My fault._

Grisha poured hot water from the kettle into our cups. "Sit yourself down for a bit, Levi" he said. "You look like you're on your last leg."

He looked like he was ready to bolt from the tent. "I can't—"

"There's nothing left for you to do now, Levi," Grisha said gently. "Sit."

Levi looked at the chair reluctantly. "I should go."

"You've got time for a cup," he said, taking Levi's thin arm and setting him firmly into the chair.

The steam coming off the cup smelled wonderful. "What's in it?" I asked.

"Rosehip. And some apple brandy the King gave me," Dr. Yeager said, stepping away from Levi who was staring down at his cup like he'd never seen one before.

I sipped. The warmth of it spread through my chest, and I felt myself relax a bit.

"So," Grisha said, settling himself slowly into a chair opposite Levi's, "how was your mission?"

Levi blinked, confused, but was quick to recover. He understood the doctor well, and knew how he coped with trauma better even than me. "It was fine. How's His Royal Highness?"

Grisha sipped calmly from his cup. "He's doing well, now anyway. He had a particularly nasty upper respiratory infection, but he's recovering quite nicely. He's a strong man, I expect he'll be fully recovered in a fortnight."

Levi nodded and took another swallow from his cup. The conversation lulled.

"I'm sorry for both of your losses," Levi said, his grey-blue eyes touched mine briefly and I felt a sudden hot ache behind them, as if I were about to burst out into tears.

I drank the last swallow out of my cup, but when I tried to set it on the table beside my chair my hands were shaking so badly that it knocked against the wood, making a sound like an impatient visitor at the door.

 _My fault. My fault. My fault._

"They were your family too," Dr. Yeager said quietly, not willing to look up from the cup cradled in his lap.

Levi stood, looking down at me, ignoring Grisha's statement entirely as he said, "Listen here kiddo, we've been losing appalling percentages of our men as it is, but with Wall Maria falling, we're likely to lose even more in the excursions to take it back. We're gonna need some decent medics around—or halfway-decent ones, anyway."

Part of me wanted desperately to join the scouting ranks, if only because I knew that in doing so I'd likely find my ex-comrades and kill them for what they did. However, the other half of me was worried about Grisha. He needed someone to piece him back together, and I knew all too well how it felt to do that on your own.

"Just take some time to think about it, brat." Levi flung open the burlap flap. "If you want to join up with us, we'll be stationed at Headquarters until further notice. You know where that is, right?"

I nodded.

"Good," he said. Then, with a long glance at Grisha's bent shoulders, he left.

XXX

Grisha pressed a bowl of stew into my hands that night. I noted that he had made none for himself. I didn't question him about it.

"Eat," he said. "You'll feel better."

He strode off to check on the patients lying in a row against the opposite wall of the tent. I sat in front of the fire and ate the meal mechanically, as if I were simply finding a place inside myself to keep the food. After the last bite I sat staring into nothing, not remembering what I had eaten or what it tasted like.

The fire snapped, making me blink and look around the room. I looked down at my hands, one curled inside the other, resting in my lap. The bowl was gone. Had Grisha come and retrieved it from me? I couldn't recall.

After a moment, I lifted and spread my hands, as if warming them by the fire. They were graceful, with long, delicate fingers. I watched them intently, as if expecting them to do something on their own. Then I lowered them to my lap, one hand lightly cupping the other, and returned to watching the fire. Expressionless, motionless, I sat until there was nothing left but grey ash and dully glowing coals.

"Come," Grisha said, "It's time we rest."

As we undressed for bed, the fire flared. The red light traced faint lines across his body, across his back and arms. All the scars were smooth and silver, streaking him like lightning, like lines of gentle remembering. The flare of flame revealed them all briefly, old wounds and new. All the scars were smooth and silver except one.

"Grisha," I heard my voice saying, happy for the momentary distraction from my guilt and shame, "what's that?"

Pointing to the angry red scar bolting down his back, from the base of his neck to the tip of his tailbone, I waited for him to explain. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, his grey eyes meeting mine for the first time since our arrival. His mouth twitched slightly, remembering.

"Ah, that," he said softly. "That is a story for another day, Amos."

I was too tired to insist upon anything, but as we each dove into our respective beds, I found that I was too terrified to close my eyes. Their faces were all looming behind my eyelids, and I could still hear their screams, echoing so loudly it was surprising that Grisha couldn't hear them.

 _My fault. My fault. My fault._

I sat upright, arms wrapped tight around myself as I bowed my head over my knees. "Grisha?"

Lying on his cot with his back toward me, I could still see his scar peeking out from the woolen blanket wrapped around his waist. "What is it, Amos?"

Trembling so hard I thought my body would fall apart at the seams, I said, "I have to tell you something."

 _No. Don't. Stop._

He sat up, the blanket falling across his lap. He didn't look at me, but I knew he was listening. I closed my eyes for the space of half a breath, then opened them again, steadying my trembling hands against my bare calves.

"Today…the attack. I—I knew. I knew that it was going to happen," I said shakily. "Grisha, I'm not who you think I am."

Nodding, almost as if he had been suspecting the news, he said, "I know."

Blinking, I didn't try to hide my surprise. "What? What do you mean—"

"You're not the only one with secrets, _Aria_."

XXX


End file.
